Page 12 of Can't Help Growling in Love
I glance at my vintage beauty I’d been trying to unlock, then up at my helmet. “What gave it away?”
He gives me an admonishing glare, as if unimpressed with my snark, and my belly squeezes unexpectedly. It’s a kind of look that belongs in the bedroom, not on a busy street filled with elderly couples and families.
“I can drive you to the hospital.” He jerks his head up. “It’s not far from the radio station.”
I know that—and he knows I know because I told him I rode past the building. I want to spend more time with him, but… “I’ll have to get home somehow. I need my bike.”
“We can put it in the back of my truck.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Coming?”
It’s how I find myself sitting in a spacious truck’s cabin with Asher Summers, aka Damon Holt, as rain splatters on his windshield. He had me hold the drinks and the pastries while he picked up my bike as if it weighed nothing and carried it around the corner to his vehicle.
I noted a small limp when he walked ahead of me and remembered what he told me about his injury and the botched first surgery on his knee. He must have worked tirelessly to get this level of ease back into his movement, even with faster shifter healing.
I know I likely shouldn’t have accepted a ride from a man who’s essentially a stranger, but Asher is giving off nice vibes only, so I decide to trust my instincts for the moment.
“Do you always take your bike in this kind of weather?” he asks, gaze focused on the road. “It’s getting cold.”
I try to shrug off the question. “It’s good for the planet.”
He slants a look my way, no words or judgment from him. Instead, he pushes a button on the dashboard, and my seat warms slowly, spreading heat through me.
“It helps me save up on gas,” I admit, barely holding back a groan of relief. “I checked the forecast, and this rain will stop sometime in the night. I shouldn’t have any issues in the morning.”
It’s the truth, but it brings up unwanted thoughts about how I’ll manage in the winter. The streets will get icy, the weather unpredictable, and it might not be safe to ride my bike everywhere, even for such short distances. I guess I’ll have to take my car or ask someone from the night shift to pick me up every day, though that would mean having to pay them back somehow.
I’ll manage. I always do. But the memory of how uncomfortable last winter was is still fresh in my mind, even though summer was mild and carefree. I’d barely made it through, and it took me several months to pay off the credit card debt I’d accrued over the cold season.
Asher doesn’t comment—and there’s not much to say. People are always awkward when someone confesses they’re poor. My parents never want to hear about my struggles, not even to commiserate. I’ve never asked them for money because my pride won’t allow it. They think I’ve brought it all down on myself by choosing a life different than what they had imagined for me.
“You can have my coffee,” he says after a long moment of silence.
I bristle. “I didn’t tell you this so you could pity me.”
He keeps his gaze on the road. “I know. But you ran out of the coffee shop before getting your own, so I owe you that, at least. I’m not sharing my pastry, though.”
I stare at him, my mouth open in protest—but I can’t find anything to object to. So I duck my head and mutter, “Sorry.”
He hums again in answer, and I get the sense that’s how he is—a man of few words. Strangely, I don’t mind it at all.
I glance at the drinks tray I’m still holding in my lap. “Let me guess, you drink bitter espresso only?”
“Wrong,” he counters. “That small cup of sadness is for Stella. You can have one of the lattes.”
I pick one of the remaining three cups and take a sip. “Cool Beans has the best coffee in town.”
“Yeah?” He smiles slightly, eyes on the road. “I don’t go out much, so I usually make my own. I bought an espresso machine a couple of months ago.”
“Want a sip?” I hold out the cup to him. “It’s only fair of me to share.”
His hazel eyes glint golden for a moment, but he accepts the cup wordlessly and drinks, then hands it back to me. “Delicious.”
My hand trembles lightly, so I cover it by taking another sip. This moment, alone in the car with this strange man, should feel uncomfortable, but it’s intimate instead, sharing the warmth and the coffee. If we weren’t both in danger of being late for work, I’d beg him to just keep driving, another round through the town, perhaps, but I need this job, so I motion for Asher to take a left and direct him toward the employee lot, where he stops in front of the parking barrier.
“Thank you.” I hand him the almost empty coffee cup. “For the coffee and the ride.”
He puts on the safety blinkers and jumps out of the truck. He rounds the front and opens my door like a gentleman, then lifts my bike from the back without so much as a grunt.
“If it rains in the morning…”
