Page 15 of A Lonely Road
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, but Jake’s satisfied expression almost made the slip-up worth it, despite the heat rising in my cheeks.
“She’s got heart, I’ll give her that. Just like her owner,” he said when I turned the ignition off and stepped out of the car. My breath caught in my throat, but he simply smiled at me in that sweet, friendly way of his and continued, “I’m starving. How about a pizza?”
“Jake,” I began.
He held up his hands and flashed another disarming smile. “I’m not trying to sneak a two-fer out of you,Nora, I’m just hungry. I’ll be up all night puking if I eat a whole pizza on my own. We can sit out on the deck if you’re afraid to be alone with me. I am, after all, a god among men.”
Though I laughed at that comment, my pulse leapt as I considered. After a moment, I nodded. “Okay. But I will have you know that I am definitely not afraid to be alone with you,” I said, the statement coming out a little too defensive.
Jake regarded me steadily. “No?”
“Of course not,” I huffed. “I’m just not interested in . . .” The words trailed off and I waved a frustrated hand between us.
His eyebrows shot upward. “In what, exactly?” he asked, leaning his hip against the car. He tucked his thumbs in his belt loops and watched me with a maddeningly patient air.
Damn him. “Anything romantic. At all.”
“Okay, I’ll scrap the poetry I planned to recite and we’ll just stick to pizza. Is beer too romantic? I might have some powdered lemonade.”
When he rocked back and forth on his heels a little, I almost snapped. The sweet, small town boy act was much less convincing now that I knew he was from Atlanta instead of the middle of nowhere.
“Thank you for replacing the fan belt, Jake. I’ll get my own dinner,” I said, a little more sharply than I’d intended, and turned quickly toward the stairs to my apartment. Embarrassment flooded my veins, hot and uncomfortable.
“Nora, wait,” he implored, catching my hand in his. I jerked it away like I’d been scalded and his teasingfaçade dropped instantly. He ran a hand through his curls, leaving them adorably tousled. “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m really sorry, Nora. I swear I’m not actually an asshole. I’m just prone to speaking before I think sometimes. Most of the time, probably.”
My lips quirked at that. “It’s fine, Jake. I really do appreciate your help with my car.”
“I can’t bear for you to walk away angry, not even a little. I’m not like him.”
“Not like who?” I asked, startled by the vehemence in his voice.
“Like the guy who grabbed you.”
I huffed a laugh. “Believe me, I’m very aware you’re nothing like that guy.”
“Please, let me make up for being an idiot. I’ll order a pizza, mix up some lemonade. I might even have ice cream in the freezer. I solemnly swear to you that I am not trying to get in your pants. Just dinner between friends. Cross my heart.”
I made the mistake of looking over at him, at his gentle smile with the barest hint of dimple peeking out. His earnest expression drew a surprised laugh from my chest, but the pleading look in his guileless blue eyes was what did me in.
“Okay,” I said finally, mature enough to acknowledge defeat.
“Okay,” he repeated. “Now, what do you want on your pizza?”
“I guess that depends on your feelings about mushrooms.”
Jake laughed and said, “Love them. If you want to sit out on the deck, I’ll go order and wash up.”
While he went inside, I waited on one of the rocking chairs on his back deck. As I drew my knees up under my chin, my gaze wandered across the yard. It stretched back a fair distance from the house, the lawn a lush green dotted with mature trees. A sturdy wooden fence ran most of the way around, with a sea of forget-me-nots growing along it. At the back corner, beneath a hawthorn tree, there was a little koi pond nestled among some rocks.
It was peaceful back here, quiet in a way I didn’t expect to appreciate as much as I did. Even with Jake gone, his presence lingered—and I didn’t hate it.
There’d been no shortage of insincere men in my past, as quick with the charm as they were with a swift departure when they’d gotten what they wanted, but everything about Jake Lincoln felt distinctly genuine. Had I ever known a man who was so freakingnice?
Now dressed in a clean shirt and dark jeans, Jake interrupted my thoughts, stepping outside carrying a pair of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.
“I’m sorry it’s not fresh-squeezed,” he said as he poured for us both.
“I assure you, I wouldn’t know the difference. My bar is set pretty low,” I replied, “though the food at your place has certainly upped the ante.”
