Page 11 of Carried Away

Threeminutesaftertwelve,Ryan rolls up to the hotel in his Mustang looking positively drool-worthy with his blond hair combed back, wearing a short sleeve red button-up shirt, and sunglasses hiding his blue eyes. He rests his hands on the steering wheel, making his triceps bulge and putting the muscles on his forearms on full display. Sheesh. Who knew I had a thing for arms?

I circle around the front of the car and open the passenger side, sliding into the seat beside him. The cab smells of vanilla, spice, and soap. Several grocery bags fill the back seat of his car.

“You ready to have some fun?” he says, pulling into traffic. I catch him more than once eying my outfit and I bite my thumbnail, worrying. Does he like it?

I’d been within walking distance of a few stores, but most of the shops were touristy and geared toward the wineries. Plus, I wasn’t sure if this would be a casual barbeque, or if was going to be like the ones we attended in Seattle that were more like an outdoor cocktail party. The wives and girlfriends would be dressed in cocktail dresses and their husbands/boyfriends would be in office attire, sans the tie. The only thing that resembled the barbeques I had in Walla Walla was that the chef prepared the meat on a grill.

I finally settled on a compromise. I found a long, flowy sleeveless summer dress and a pair of ankle-strap wedges for shoes. Then I crossed my fingers and paid for them.

After catching Ryan sneaking a peek at me for the third time, I wrap my arms around my waist self-consciously. “What’s wrong?”

Ryan’s brows dart upward. “Nothing. You look beautiful.” His cheeks deepen a shade. “I didn’t mean to stare. You just look really…good.” He jerks his eyes to look out the windshield again and scratches his brow. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

I loosen my grip on my stomach and bite my lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Ryan just called me beautiful. “Thank you,” I say, feeling my cheeks burn. “I wasn’t sure what to wear, I hope this is appropriate.”

“It’s more than appropriate. You’re gonna make all the girls jealous because the guys won’t be able to keep their eyes off you.”

“Okay. Okay,” I say, grinning. “Flattery gets you everywhere. What do you want?”

“Nothing…yet.”

I narrow my eyes at him and raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan lifts a shoulder and grins. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out later.”

“That isn’t ominous or anything,” I mutter.

“All the better,” he says before pulling back into the mechanic shop parking lot.

Nothing has changed since the last time I was here, except there are a couple of new cars in the parking lot. He pulls into his usual spot, then scurries around the front of his car to get to my door and open it.

When he holds out his hand to me, I look up at him and smile. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Ryan inclines his head. “I know. I want to. My mom taught me to open doors for ladies, and I’m not about to incur her wrath now–dead or alive.”

“You lost your mom too? I’m sorry. I didn’t know. She was such a nice woman. It sucks that we’ve both lost our parents before we’re thirty.”

“Yeah.” His face falls.

I take his hand and let him guide me out of the car. He opens the back seat and grabs a couple of grocery bags. “Mind carrying one for me?” he asks.

“Load me up and make me your packhorse,” I say.

Ryan snickers and hands me a bag. “How about I give you the lightest one?”

My mouth pops open. “Ryan Stirling. I am perfectly adept at carrying heavy things.”

“I’m sure you are,” he says, closing the door and juggling the three bags in his arms. “I’m just not capable of watching you do it when I can do the same.”

Shaking my head, I follow him through the shop’s front doors, to the back, and stop at the door he disappeared behind when he changed his clothes. This time, when he unlocks the deadbolt, he steps aside and jerks his head toward the opening. “Ladies first.”

I step through the door and find a staircase going up. At the top of the stairs, it opens up into a massive, open space filled with brick walls, industrial piping, hardwood floors, and leather furniture. Though nearly the entire upstairs is one continuous space, Ryan’s found a way to segment off each room with carpets and furniture, creating places to gather.

He drops his keys on a side table, then strides forward to the kitchen on the right, dropping his bags onto marble countertops. I follow suit, putting my bag next to the other three. I pull items out of the bags while he finds homes for them in the stainless steel refrigerator or nearby cupboards. He leaves out several steaks, hotdogs, buns, and a bunch of veggies.

“What else can I do to help?” I ask, watching him grab condiments and several bottles of spices from a cupboard.

He opens a drawer and grabs a cutting board, sliding it over the counter to me. “Would you mind cutting veggies? I was going to do a veggie platter.”

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