Page 20 of Love and Other Trials
“Your what?”
She took off toward the front of the lot and spotted it parked near the door to the Charleston Estates’ lobby. “There it is!”
Her feet picked up their pace as Sherlock took off toward it, his tail going to its excited saber-like position. The glittery pink golf cart had her grinning. When she’d looked for a rental and seen this one, she’d thought it would be fun. A roomy two-seater so she wouldn’t be carting wedding guests around, and a rear cargo box that allowed for her to haul wedding items. “Trust me. Charleston is a nightmare to park in. Smart people—like me—use a golf cart. Grandma drove one for some fifty years. Didn’t ever use a car much.”
Sherlock climbed in, his tail tapping the floor. Dax scrubbed a hand over his jaw. She wasn’t sure yet which she liked better on that rock-hard jaw. Morning scruff or clean shaven. God, she couldn’t wait to touch it.
“Did you choose the pink? Or is someone having a little fun with you?”
She punched him lightly in the shoulder and climbed in the driver’s seat. “I chose it. I confess I thought my nephews would be less inclined to beg me for rides if it was pink and sparkly.”
He folded his tall frame into it and patted Sherlock on the head since he was sitting right behind them. “Your strategic mind continues to awe me. Good thing I’m comfortable in my masculinity and am okay with being pressed up against your dog.”
She glanced over and fought a hum of feminine appreciation as she entered the code the rental company had texted to start the cart. His powerful frame made her feel tiny in comparison, in that delicious way a large man made a woman feel. “Hang on to your butt, Captain Hotpants. We’re about to take off.”
His snort accompanied more laughter, but he secured his grip on the grab handle. “I should warn you. I’m not a great copilot. But I am used to a tight fit.”
Oh, how naughty of him… She patted his heavily muscled thigh with a flirtatious wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you.”
Except she couldn’t help reversing the golf cart with a little extra oomph as she pulled out, making him grunt and grip the bar overhead. Sherlock was panting excitedly, tail wagging. He’d always loved driving in her grandma’s golf cart when they’d visited. Grandma’s eyesight had gotten bad, so she’d only driven to the small grocery store on Folly Beach for groceries.
“My first driving lesson was in a golf cart,” she told Dax as she headed downtown.
“That explains your driving.” He was quiet for a while as she navigated the golf cart before sending her a playful smile as they hit King Street. “People are staring at us.”
They were in the hub, where tourists, college students, and local shoppers lined the streets. “They’re probably staring at you, Captain Hotpants.”
He gave a playful wave to a trio of college girls after one boldly waved at him. “You didn’t see that guy in the camo shirt and shorts combo tip his invisible hat to you? Ariel, I swear he was ready to go out hunting and lay a freshly killed deer at your feet.”
“That’s disgusting,” she told him as she navigated the traffic toward Spring Street. “I love me some deer jerky, I won’t lie, but I don’t want a fresh carcass on my flip-flops.”
Sherlock gave a bark as if agreeing.
“Wait!” Dax pointed toward the right. “I know why the camo guy was here. He was visiting the taxidermy place. Did you see it? It had a deer ringed by pink strobe lights in the store window.”
“It did not!” She chuckled.
“Did too! You’ll see it when we come back. Austin is clearly behind the taxidermy times. And I think the store window was displaying leather handbags. You can get your animal stuffed or make it into a fashion accessory.”
“That’s so Charleston,” she told him as she let her gaze run along the charming shops that lined the street. “Grandma and those of her generation made a little go a long way, and the prettier the better. She swore Charleston was the first city to scent pine cones with cinnamon, which later became a big decorating trend.”
“I’m clearly behind the times since I’ve never been around cinnamon-scented pine cones.”
“You poor baby.” She gave in to the urge to pat his knee again. “Grandma laughed when some ladies called it Southern potpourri and sold it for nearly twenty dollars in these shops. Said that was the Holy City for you. Making money for one’s family using all the wiles God gave you. I don’t know that I’d go that far, but that was her thinking. God, I miss her.”
This time he laid his hand on her knee, and she almost fumbled with the accelerator pedal at the electricity that shot up her leg to a rather sensitive area. “When did she pass?”
“Six months ago.” She wiped her nose as tears filled her eyes. “Before Thanksgiving—a few weeks after Tiffany announced her engagement. Her heart gave out as she was walking back to her house from her daily stretch of her legs on the beach.”
“I was close with my grandpa Cross. He used to take me fishing every Saturday morning growing up. When I lost him two years ago, I felt like someone had dug a fishing hook in my heart. One I’d never pull out.”
She continued navigating them to Johns Island with emotion balled in her throat. “That’s exactly how it feels.” She laid her hand on top of his hand on her knee, and it felt like a new bond was forming between them from comforting each other.
She was used to intense moments of connection with people in her job. Trauma and loss opened people up, but with Dax it was more than that. There was attraction and good humor and a certain intimacy—like she could tell him anything. It felt inevitable that they’d end up in bed together, and she was trusting herself on knowing when the time was right.
He took her hand in his, stroking the back before he teasingly set it back on the wheel with a pat. “I haven’t told anyone this—not even Rob since he’d drag me out on a boat and say it was for my own good—but I can’t bring myself to go fishing without my grandfather. Grabs me by the throat just thinking about it. I was wondering about trying to do it here if there was time since I’ve got my buddies coming. I need to push past it. Gramps wouldn’t want me to give up fishing because of grief over him. He’d likely shove me off the boat for being so silly.”
“It’s not silly.” She pulled into the dirt parking lot for the tropical fish farm, whose logo had dancing starfish, and parked. “Grief is normal.”
