Page 24 of Sparrow's Grace

After he helped me out and then grabbed my bag from me which got a chuckle out of him when I glared, he immediately replied, “You’re carrying precious cargo. No need for you to lift shit.”

And with that statement, he placed his free hand on the small of my back and led me to the garage, where once again all the air in my lungs let out in a whoosh.

Why?

That was because of the beauty that sat before me.

He chuckled as he removed his hand from my back and then stalked to what I assumed to be a door so we could go into the house, but I didn’t remove my eyes from the beauty before me.

“Please tell me that my eyes aren’t deceiving me,” I whispered at the vision that sat on four wheels in front of me.

He smirked and then asked, “Are you seeing an all-white car with two black racing stripes on the hood?”

The freaking smartass… All I could do was to nod my head in answer.

“Then yes, yes you are,” he told me with amusement in his tone.

“This… this is a 1970 Plymouth ‘Cuda Hemi with a 426 cubic inch, V-8 running at stock 425hp at 5,000 rpm,” I rushed out feeling a rush of excitement, then looked at Zeke.

Only to find his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open, and a look in those deep gray eyes of his.

And when he dropped my bag, stalked over to me, and then dropped to one knee while grabbing my hand and asked, “Marry me, Savannah. Fuck me. Please say yes.”

I couldn’t help but giggle as I gazed down at his sculpted by the greatest of master’s face.

“Well?” he demanded, still on one knee.

“Are you seriously asking me that only because I know what kind of car this is?” I asked him, trying to put a dangerous whisper in my tone but failing miserably.

“Well… kind of… but not only that. You're fucking beautiful. Fuck me, you took my breath away with one fucking picture. You're sweet as hell. You have a sassy attitude. You obviously know cars. And on top of that, you’re not afraid to chow down in front of a man. So, give me an answer, please?”

“Ask me again next week,” I told him and then leaned down, and without a care in the world and having no clue how I was so easily trusting of this man, I pressed a kiss on his forehead.

And then I did something I have been wanting to do forever. I walked to the car and ran my hand along with the sleek frame.

My mind ran back to one of the very few times my dad hadn’t forgotten my birthday and had taken me for a ride in his car that was almost identical to this one.

And as I walked along the side of it, I hadn’t realized he had been in the process of telling me where and how he got it.

My ears piqued when he said the name Andy.

There was no way. No freaking way that the Andy that I remembered and the Andy that he knows are the same person.

This car was on the other side of the country.

But I had to know.

You know the saying: curiosity killed the cat?

Snapping my head in his direction, he stopped speaking when I asked, “Wait… what do you mean, the guy you bought it from was named Andy?”

He looked at me with a raised brow, “You okay?”

“What? Yes, I’m okay,” I replied to him.

And when he didn’t answer me, I almost snapped my fingers in his face. This was serious business, “Andy… the guy you bought it from. Was his last name Heighten?”

He jerked his head back slightly and asked, “Yeah… how the fuck would you know that?”

---