“I was suffocating in your hair,” I say scrubbing a hand down my overgrown facial hair and finding a few strands of platinum-blonde curls. “See? I’m going to be shitting your hair for a week.”
“Oh gosh. I’m sorry. Is this your truck?” she thumbs over her shoulder.
“It is. Is that your candle?” I ask of the large glass jar filled with wax and rocks that is sitting on my hood.
“Well, technically it’s yours now. Consider it an apology for hitting your car.”
My brow shoots up. “You hit my truck?”
“Yeah.” She winces. “But I swear I’ll pay to fix it. Somehow.” That last word is said under her breath as she looks away, and it makes me look at her a little closer. She’s young—maybe mid-twenties at most—around five-seven in height, blonde shoulder-length hair and wide brown eyes, freckles across the top of her nose and curves that are likely to show up in my dreams later tonight. I look away and frown. I shouldn’t be thinking with my dick so soon after choking like that.
“Show me,” I grunt out.
She blinks, seemingly unsure what I’m talking about. “How I’m gonna pay?”
“No. The damage. Show it to me.”
“Well…” She hands the broken wiper to me first. “There’s that. But I did that leaving the note about the first problem.”
“Jesus,” I say, following her around to the front of my vehicle.
“This is where I backed into you.” She gestures to the bumper where there’s a slight dent and some red paint mixed in with my blue paint.
I run my thumbnail over it. It’ll be easy enough to buff out. “Don’t worry about it.”
She pulls her head back. “Don’t worry? Sir, I damaged your car and the least I can do is pay and make it right.”
“I don’t need you to.”
Her mouth opens then closes. “You don’t… Why?”
“Because from the looks of things, your car took the damage. Not mine. And the damage I did take, I can fix myself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And I can fix your car too if you need a good deal.” I reach into my back pocket and pull a card out of my wallet. “I own the garage over on Wattle Street. Stop by anytime and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
She takes the card from my hand like she’s afraid I’m going to jump at her and yell ‘surprise, motherfucker!’. And when she plucks it safely from my grip, she lets out an audible sigh.
“Small-town hospitality is an actual thing, huh?”
I look her up and down as I nod, refusing to speak in case my thoughts fall out of my mouth. This offer has nothing to do with small town hospitality and everything to do with the way my body reacts to the shape of her. Call me crazy, but I feel like this woman is supposed to be in my life. Like she’s the salve to my loneliness, the woman I’ve always been told was out there waiting for me—just for me. It’s a difficult feeling to explain.
“OK. Well, I guess I’ll see you soon then,” she says, sliding the card into her pocket. “I’m Ava, by the way.” She holds out her hand to shake mine.
“Duke,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers and getting a kick out of the size difference. I dwarf her.
“Duke,” she repeats, her voice a little breathy as she smiles up at me. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Any time, kitten. You show up and I’ll be waitin’.”
She giggles. “Enjoy your, uh, candle.” She nods toward my current hood ornament as she extracts her hand from mine. I want to hold onto it again.
“I’m sure I will. You drive safe, now.”
“OK,” she says, taking a few steps toward her car before stopping abruptly and turning back. “Can I ask you something?”
I grin. “Of course.”
