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“We should take my car,” I declare, stepping back before the intoxicating concept of plush leather and power-lock windows can draw me in.
“What? Why?” He pushes to stand and I turn.
It’s then that I realize he’s dressed in a pair of jeans, brown leather boots, and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt pushed up to his elbows. The material is thick and well-made. He looks adorable with his tousled brown hair and bright green eyes. I swear he’s even a little tanner than the last time I saw him, not to mention his bone structure; it’s strong and intimidating, the stuff dreams are made of.
While all of that might have been important if we were going on a date, the only thing I truly care about is that he’s not dressed for manual labor. I take that as a good sign.
“Why should we take your car?” he asks again, snapping my attention away from his clean-shaven jaw.
“Oh.” I point to my old clunker parked a few spots away, glistening like a murky, chipped diamond in the sunlight. “Because Mouse is a terror and I would hate for him to ruin your upholstery or get hair everywhere.”
Adam shrugs. “I really don’t mind.”
I look down at Mouse and see a hint of mischief in his light brown eyes.
“Yeah, still, it’s probably for the best.”
I instruct Adam to take the free parking spot beside mine and then we’re both sliding into my car at the same time. I try to see the car through his eyes. He just stepped out of the latest and greatest Audi on the market, and my upholstery is thin and ripped in a few spots. The air conditioning craps out every now and then, and a few buttons on the dashboard have disappeared in the last month or so, thanks to Mouse. Then there’s the lovely sound it makes as I try to start her up.
“Bad starter,” I say with a weak smile.
He frowns. “Are you sure?”
No, I’m not sure. I haven’t taken it in to a mechanic because that is something that people with money do. For now, I pretend it’s just a bad starter and go about my day blissfully ignorant.
After an awkward number of attempts and failures, it finally jumps to life and I toss Adam another smile. “See? She’s just a little stubborn.”
He hums, too gentlemanly to argue with me.
I hear rustling in the back seat and turn to see Mouse with his snout stuck halfway into my tote bag.
“No! Mouse, those aren’t for you!” I snap, reaching back for the bag.
“Did you pack food?” he asks before the bag comes into full view and his eyes widen. “Correction, did you pack your entire pantry?”
I blush and try to hide it. “No, just a few necessities.”
He relieves me of the bag and stows it on the floorboard at his feet. The oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are poking out right up top and he notices them right away.
“Cookies?”
“Homemade cookies,” I correct, putting the car in reverse. “Where should I head?”
He points out to the left. “Toward town. Why’d you pack cookies?”
“Because you wouldn’t tell me what we were doing, and I wanted to be prepared for anything.”
“In what situation exactly would you need homemade cookies?”
I frown. “Au contraire—you tell me one situation that isn’t made better by cookies. Besides, there’s other stuff in there too. Sneakers and a t-shirt, that sort of thing.”
“I like what you have on.”
It’s a nice thing for him to say. The white blouse belongs to Daisy, and her chest is a little smaller than mine so I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off as well as she does.
“Why do you have gardening gloves in here?”
I was too focused on driving to notice him rifling through the bag.
“Oh, yeah, those are for the calf-birthing.”
“The what?”
I laugh. “Like I said, I wanted to be prepared.”
“We’re just going to my family’s barbecue.”
I swerve into oncoming traffic and Mouse flies across the back seat just as a passing car lays on their horn. I straighten out the wheel and return to my lane. When there’s a clearing, I pull off to the side of the road.
With the car in park, I turn to Adam to find him eyeing me warily.
“We’re going where?!”
He holds up his hands in defense. “Just a small barbecue, nothing serious.”
“No. No. A family barbecue is serious! This was not part of the deal.”
He tips his head and smiles. It’s adorable, but I refuse to notice. “Technically, you agreed to do anything I needed you to do.”
“That’s when I thought you’d be asking me for a lung or something!”
“So you were prepared to donate an organ, but a family barbecue is suddenly too much pressure?”
He’s mocking me.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t try to be cute.”
He rakes a hand through his hair and turns his green gaze on me. I feel it melting my cold, hardened heart even as I try to resist. “My mom insisted I show up with a date. She can be…persistent, and I thought it would be easier to give in than to keep trying to fend her off.”
