Page 3 of Soul of the Mountain
“I know my truck isn’t the level of comfort you’re used to, but you need to relax,” Sullivan says, peering over at me across the center console.
“It’s not the truck I have an issue with; it’s the driver.”
Sullivan chuckles, which would usually put me on the defensive. The hearty sound seems to have the opposite effect, however. I’ve been nothing but rude and stand-offish toward the inn owner who scooped me out of my flooded car and gave me a place to stay for the night. Yet Sullivan is still here, doing me another favor by giving me a ride to Grady’s.
I’ve never met anyone like him. For starters, the man is over six feet tall and absolutely rippling with muscle. It makes sense. I may or may not have seen him in front of the property this morning, picking up tree branches the size of a human leg, like they weighed nothing. I also might have glimpsed his shirt riding up when he stretched his arms over his head, revealing a six-pack and, I assume, those sexy V-shape lines all the male movie stars and models have. Not that I’ve spent the last few hours thinking about it or anything.
Aside from his stupidly sexy body, Sullivan’s deep brown eyes feel as if they’re cutting right through my bullshit with every glance, straight down into my pathetic, fractured soul. Maybe that’s why I’m extra bitchy to him. Most people keep their distance from me once I shut down small talk or say something rude, and that’s fine by me. I don’t need anyone.
We finally come to a stop in front of a bakery named A Spoon Full of Sugar, which admittedly, is adorable. The outside of the store is painted in pastel green, blue, and pink stripes with a scalloped awning to complete the vintage candy shop look.
“You coming in?” Sullivan asks. “Or are you gonna keep strangling your seatbelt?”
I drop my hands from the belt and unbuckle it, trying to hide my embarrassment with a lethal glare. Sullivan takes it in stride, even furrowing his brow as if he’s trying to figure me out.Good luck, buddy.
“Do they have coffee?”
“Best in town.”
“Does it have any competition?”
Sullivan grins and shakes his head no. “I make coffee at the inn, but I’ve been told it would make for a better paint stripper than a beverage.”
I press my lips together to keep from returning his grin. I won’t give him the satisfaction of making me smile. If he canmake me smile, he can make me cry, and I refuse to let someone have that power over me.
We head toward the entrance, and I wait for Sullivan to walk in first. Instead, he opens the door and holds it, stepping to the side. I stare at him, then at the door.
“After you,” he says.
I keep staring at him. Why is he being so polite? I’ve given him every reason to shrug me off.
“Has no one ever held a door for you?”
“I… guess not,” I answer truthfully. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, which makes me feel self-conscious about revealing that information. “I didn’t think people still did that. Very antiquated, you know.”
Sullivan freaking grins again, and this time, I see dimples. That’s not even fair. He can’t be tall, dark, sexy-as-hell, kind, understanding,andhave adorable dimples. How is anyone ever going to top that? Now that I know Sullivan exists, I know I’ll be comparing potential partners to him. Not that I’ve had any partners, potential or otherwise. Probably has something to do with me being cold and sarcastic ninety percent of the time.
I breeze past him, but pause when he lightly rests his hand on my lower back. Sullivan leans down, his evergreen and coffee scent washing over me and making my mind go blank.
“You can just say thank you next time, princess,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.
My stupid heart flips in my chest as a tingle runs down my spine. I should be upset that he called me princess, but all I can think about is his warm breath tickling my skin.
“Sully!” an older woman exclaims from behind the bakery case.
I jump at her booming voice, and Sullivan spreads his hand out over my back in a comforting gesture. I hate how much I love it.
“Mrs. Bishop,” Sullivan replies with a wave. He drops his hand from my back and steps further inside to speak to the white-haired baker. “I haven’t seen you behind the counter in quite some time. I thought you retired.”
“Are you saying I look old enough for retirement?” She lifts an eyebrow and gives him a stern yet playful glare.
Sullivan holds his hands out, palms up, in surrender. “You are both ageless and timeless,” he recovers smoothly.
“That’s more like it,” Mrs. Bishop says with a nod.
“But I happen to know you were born the same year as my gran, which makes you over a decade past retirement age.”
This earns him a belly laugh from the kind older woman. “You got me there. Now, who is this lovely woman you have with you?” She turns her attention to me, which has my cheeks burning. I don’t like being the center of attention. “Excuse Sully’s manners. He’s never brought a lady friend here before.”
