Page 2 of Kissing the Boss
"Scout's honor." He holds up three fingers before his attention returns to my engine. "Your water pump's shot, I'll need to tow this back to the shop."
"Is it fixable?"
"Everything's fixable." He straightens, wiping his hands on a rag from his back pocket. "Question is whether it's worth fixing."
Our eyes meet and hold, the festival noise fading to white noise around us.
"I think it is," I say softly. "Worth fixing, I mean. It got me this far."
His gaze drops to my lips for a fraction of a second before he steps back, clearing his throat. "Let me hook it up. You can ride in the truck."
I watch him work, efficient and confident, muscles flexing as he secures the tow chains.
"All set." He opens the passenger door of his truck for me, a gesture that seems automatic rather than calculated. "Watch your step."
I need the boost to climb into the lifted truck, and his hand on my elbow sends electricity shooting up my arm. The cab smells like coffee and leather, with a pine air freshener hanging from the mirror.
Jonathan swings into the driver's seat with easy grace. In the enclosed space, his presence is overwhelming.
"First time in Whitetail Falls?" he asks as we navigate slowly through the festival crowd.
"That obvious too?"
"You've got that shell-shocked look tourists get when they see the whole town turns out for festivals." He waves at someone, who waves back enthusiastically. "Plus, locals know to avoid Acorn Circle during peak festival hours."
"Noted for next time." I watch the town roll past, storefronts with whimsical names, sidewalks lined with pumpkins and corn stalks, strings of lights connecting buildings like golden webs. "It's even prettier than the website made it look."
"You researched us?"
Heat climbs my neck. "I'm starting a new job tomorrow. Seemed smart to know about the town."
"What kind of work?"
"Bookkeeping. Found the perfect position online, small business, flexible hours, decent pay." I fidget with my purse strap. "Plus, I needed a change. Fresh start, you know?"
Something flickers across his face. "Yeah, I know."
We drive in comfortable silence down tree-lined streets where leaves spiral down like confetti. Every house sports fall decorations—wreaths and scarecrows and those inflatable lawn decorations that seem to multiply each year.
"Is your garage a family business?" I ask as we turn onto Pine Street.
"Third generation. My grandfather started it back when this was all logging country." Pride threads through his voice. "Kept us afloat through recessions, tech booms, everything."
"That's amazing. Having those kind of roots."
He glances at me, surprised. "Most people think it's boring. Staying in the same place your whole life."
"Are you kidding? That's the dream. Knowing where you belong, having history somewhere." I bite my lip, realizing I've revealed too much. "Sorry. I babble when I'm nervous."
"Why are you nervous?"
Because you're gorgeous and you smell amazing and your smile makes me forget about my broken car and questionable life choices.
"New town, broken car, the usual." I gesture vaguely. "Plus, I just trauma-dumped about belonging on a stranger."
"We're not strangers. I know your car has a busted water pump and you research towns before moving to them." His lips quirk. "And you laugh at my terrible moose jokes."
"They weren't terrible."
