Page 67 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

NASH

December 24

Big Bear, California

“Why won’t you let me see what’s in the bag?”

Elle’s figured out that the blocks I’m delivering are in a bag behind my seat. She’s kneeling on the truck bench, trying to get inside it. I push her back with my free arm, trying to make a turn in the road with my other arm. I take it a little too sharply and she falls against me. My arm wraps around her—pressing her to my chest—so she won’t hit her head on the steering wheel.

“Would you stop?” I gently move her back to her side. “And put your seatbelt on before you go through the windshield.”

“Is it meth?” She’s staring at me—arms crossed with pouty lips.

“Yes, Elle. Sam and I are manufacturing and selling meth.” I roll my eyes. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

I sigh, reaching my arm over the seat to grab one of the gift boxes in the bag. She opens it, revealing a set of brightly painted blocks.

“These are toy blocks.”

“I know what they are.”

“But wait, you said it was something you and Sam make. Do you make these?”

“Yeah.”

“Like by hand?”

“Just like that. I carve them and Sam paints them.”

“Nash, these are beautiful. And you sell them at the resorts?”

I shrug. “Yeah, Sam does. He gives the profits to the hospice center that cared for his wife right before she died of cancer.”

She takes a quick breath. When I look over, she’s holding her breath and her eyes are brimming.

“His wife died of cancer?” she says, exhaling slowly.

I grab her hand. I’m trying to prevent her from crying. You think I would have learned by now that it’s not possible. Her eyes are so full that I’m not sure how she can see.

“Elle, you already knew she died.”

“But there’s new information.” She protests. “You hand carve toy blocks and then give them to your adorable old-man neighbor who paints them, sells them, and then donates all the profits to the people who took care of his dying wife. That’s a lot.”

“You’re right. It warrants another cry.” I say, squeezing her hand as I watch the tears flow down her face. I reach over and pop open the glove compartment—now stuffed with those little personal packs of tissues.

“You got me Kleenex,” she says, sniffing.

“I figured we would need them.” I give her hand another squeeze as we drive into the resort. “Do you want to come in with me?”

“Yes,” she says, turning the rearview mirror toward her to wipe the remaining tears away. “Do I look like I was crying?”

“You look beautiful—like you always do,” I say as I open my door. “Slide out this way. There’s a snowdrift on your side.”

She slides across the seat and sits on the edge for a second. She looks up at me. This would be the perfect time to kiss her. I came close last night, but her eyes told me she wasn’t there yet. She’s looking at me with that same expression now. I’ve wanted to kiss her since her head popped out from underneath my truck’s tarp on her wedding day. I know I have to be patient, but it’s getting almost impossible. I smile as she takes my hands and hops down out of the truck.

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