Page 22 of Trucker
Well, nothing really concrete.
Nothing that a woman would learn about on a date, sitting across from him, staring into those brown eyes.
Well, nothing aside from what was in the dossier Valentina “Zoom” Forsythe had emailed to me. They were things pertinent to my decision of allowing him to stay in my home.
He was one of her very best friends. He’d taken care of her after being disowned by her parents—always had her back, never asked for more than she was willing to give him, always cheering for her the loudest.
No criminal record.
Single.
Educated.
Middle class.
Doesn’t smoke.
Eats meat.
Lifer firefighter.
And no one had to tell me he was gorgeous!
But all of that was useless—except the fact he was single.
I smiled at the thought of him not having a woman in his life.
Inhaling a lung full of air, I cleared my throat and allowed my eyes to float over the view from the tail end of my property.
It was water as far as the eyes could see—and when the sun was fully up, the rippling waves looked like something out of a fantasy novel.
Almost perfect.
Too perfect.
“All this is yours?” Trucker asked, setting his hands on his hips to look around.
“Yes.” I replied breathily.
I was seriously out of shape.
The walk had taken it out of me. Keeping up would never usually be a problem. Only Trucker’s legs were longer than mine—and the man could move.
“It’s beautiful,” Trucker said in the voice of a teenager being impressed for the first time.
“It was owned by my grandfather.” I explained. “He bought the place when he met my grandmother. She wanted to be away from the city—she wanted a slower pace.”
“I can vibe with that feeling.” Trucker nodded.
“She liked her peace.” I chuckled. “So, Yeah. It’s mine now. Most of it anyway—then his neighbours retired and was going to sell their land to a developer.”
“Oh. That wouldn’t have been good for any of this.”
“Yeah—my grandparents bought the neighbour’s place and merged it into one.” I managed a sad smile. “She died before closing but my grandfather knew her dreams. After he passed, he left it to me, to be held in trust until I was twenty-five.”
“How old were you when he—passed?”
“Ten.”
