Page 68 of A Not So Merry Rescue
Because you don’t trust me to drive your car?
I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t trust you
Oh, good point.
So what then?
He doesn’t respond right away, so I put on socks and shoes.
What’s the weather?
Hoodie weather
My hoodie
Territorial much?
A week ago, I wouldhave said no . . .
The dots jump, but no message appears. I’m forced to confront his unanswered question.
So are we meeting at the cafe?
be at the cabin in seven
Guess that answers my question. Why am I not surprised?
Why am I not upset?
eep. Better get ready
I finish the last sip of coffee and dart to the bedroom to change out of my pajamas and into clothes. Since my trip involved lounging around the cabin, I don’t have much in terms of “leaving the house and looking like a presentable human for a cafe” clothes, but I pair a clean pair of black leggings with a crewneck sweatshirt and hope for the best. Doing my hair would take away some of the sting, but the sound of the back door opening has me rushing to run a brush through it. I’ll tie it back out of my face so it’s not so wavy. Even though I dried it yesterday, it’s taken on a life of its own this morning.
“Leave it down,” Beckett barks from the bathroom doorway as I’m struggling to tameit into a less messy version of a lazy bun.
Yes,barks.
“It’s crazy,” I note, pointing to the out-of-control strands.
“It’s beautiful.”
His words cause me to stumble, needing to steady myself on the sink. Our gazes meet in the mirror. He breaks it to rake his down my body, eating me up like I’m his next meal.
“I can’t wait to see what color and style your undergarments are later today. Meet you in the driveway.”
His comment whirls around my brain. The man makes me so unhinged with one comment. It’s maddening. Yet, I love it at the same time.
Glad to know I’m not completely broken.
You’re welcome.Elias’s voice echoes around me on an exhale.
Wildflower Cafe is packed. Half a dozen booths line the back wall with low and high tables scattered throughout the rest of the floor. The usual casual decor is embellished with holiday decorations. They’re not so “in your face” as the outdoor spectacle of Main Street, and I can—possibly—admit they’re tasteful.
Like the grocery store the other day, people bombard Beckett with greetings, smiles, and questions.
A man in his fifties approaches first. His skin is like tanned leather, like he works outside a lot of the year.
Reaching his hand out to Beckett, his gaze slides my way before returning to Beckett’s. “Didn’t have a chance to congratulate a job well done. Or, jobs I should say. The lights, the breakfast, the parade. Is there any part of the town festivities you didn’t have your hand in?” A deep laugh rumbles from him, and his cheeks blush a rosy red.
