Like hell I’m letting her. I shift the bag out of reach. “What kind of boyfriend would I be to let you carry your bag?” I mean it as a joke, but it comes out rougher than I intended.
Her lips part. “But I’m not—” She stops, her light dimming. “I guess it’s time to play my part.”
Something twists in my chest. She makes it sound like pretending to be with me is a burden. Maybe we should have spent some time together before this. I thought our banter in the coffee shop and the text messages would be enough, but obviously I didn’t think this through. I didn’t think any of this through, and now a woman I barely know has flown to Vermont to pretend to be my girlfriend.
What the hell was I thinking?
I force a smile. “You don’t have to look so distraught about the idea of me being your boyfriend.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, no—that’s not it!” A flush creeps up her cheeks. “Any woman would be lucky to have you as a boyfriend. I’m just worried I’ll mess up.”
I shouldn’t feel so relieved, and my fifth appendage shouldn’t be so excited. But then I realize she didn’t say she’d be lucky. Just any woman.
“You’ll be fine,” I manage, though my voice feels tight. Then, like an idiot, I blurt, “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
She jerks back, scandalized. “What? No!”
“Right.” I drag my hand through my hair. Great. Keep digging, Alex. “I should’ve asked earlier.”
Her mouth tightens. “If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t be here.” Her words are clipped, and it’s clear I’ve insulted her.
You’d think I have a shovel in my pocket the way I keep digging myself deeper.
“Sorry, Finley. I didn’t mean to insult your character. I’m just…nervous.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out. I’m supposed to be strong, confident—and I usually am that guy. Which is why this feels so unnerving. I don’t recognize myself right now.
Her expression softens. “You’re nervous too?”
It’s too late to deny it now. “Yeah, but not because I think you’ll screw up.” I stop there because there’s no way in hell I can admit the real reason. I’m too aware of her—the curve of her smile, the way her hair spills around her shoulder like it was made to, the faint scent of vanilla and coffee that clings to her. It’s distracting. Dangerous. It’s throwing me off balance.
I knew she was cute and charming before I invited her to come with me—hell, it’s part of the reason I invited her. Then what is going on with my feelings now?
I heft the suitcase into my left hand, partly because it’s heavy, partly so I can rest my right palm against the small of her back as I guide her to the door. The move feels automatic, natural. Too natural.
I’m supposed to sell the part. Just a boyfriend gesture, right? But the warmth of her through her sweater makes me wonder if I’m the one falling for it.
We reach my parents’ old Jeep Wagoneer and her face lights up. “I thought these only existed in movies. This is amazing!”
The bite of the cold air helps clear my head which lets me sound normal again. “You’ll have to tell my dad. He bought this thing new back in ‘85. He swore it could get him anywhere in any weather. My mother tried for years to make him trade it in, and he finally caved a few years back and bought a new car, but my brother Tyler convinced her to keep this one. Mostly after we all begged and Tyler promised to maintain it.”
“He must be handy. Is he a mechanic?”
“He’s an engineer,” I say with a laugh. “Growing up, he tore apart everything he could get his hands on. He drove Mom crazy. She started buying toasters and blenders at garage sales just so he’d leave the working ones alone.”
Finley laughs, the sound carrying into the still night. It’s…nice. Warmer than it should be in this weather. I tell myself that’s all it is—just the sound of home, mixing with the cold air and the season. Nothing more.
I open the back hatch, lift her suitcase inside, then move to the passenger door. I unlock it with the key and hold it open.
“Very old school,” she teases as she slides onto the seat.
“My mother raised me to open car doors.”
She chuckles. “I meant the part where you need a key.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Right. That too.”
I get in and start the engine. Cold air blows out of the vents, and she shivers. I turn the fan down until it warms. “Are you hungry? Mom made a pot of chili, but we can stop somewhere if you want.”
“I can wait.”
