“That’s very kind.” She met his gaze for a beat. “But we don’t want to impose?—”
“It’s no imposition.” Another lie.
The parking lot was nearly empty at the late hour, just a few Coast Guard vehicles and Wyatt’s sleek Volvo. Ryder’s truck sat at the far end, dark blue paint faded from salty air and hard use. It was a working vehicle with enough ground clearance to handle the logging roads he sometimes used for fishing access.
He was halfway across the lot when he remembered.
Shit.
Ellie’s car seat was still strapped into the back bench—the physical evidence of the most important part of his life, and the one he kept separate from everything else. Especially from attractive women who asked too many questions and made him feel things he’d rather not examine.
Drive them to the hotel. Forget it. What she thinks doesn’t matter.
Fuck. Another lie.
They were piling up.
At the truck, he opened the passenger door for her.
Her fingers curled around the frame as she climbed in, flexing a tiny white scar along her knuckle.
The bright pink car seat blared its presence—princess decals, a glittering crown stitched into the headrest, impossible to miss.
Ivy’s gaze flicked toward it, but her expression remained unreadable.
“Ellie’s three,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Smooth, Ryder.Announce her age like it’s a crime scene report.
Her gaze lingered on the car seat. “That’s a lovely name,” she said softly, leaving it at that.
No judgment. He braced for a pause, for the shift he always saw in women when they understood what came with him. It never came.
George slid into the back without hesitation, oblivious to the awkward weight of the moment. Ryder caught the flicker of Ivy’s glance—the only reaction that counted—before easing the passenger door shut.
He hefted their suitcases into the bed of his F-150, swung the tailgate closed, and slid in behind the wheel, more aware of her quiet presence beside him than anything else.
Her shoulder was a breath away from brushing his arm. Her perfume threaded through the cab, mingling with pine and motor oil. He flexed his grip on the wheel until the leather creaked. He needed the distraction of motion—mirrors, gears, anything to keep from noticing how every inhale pulled her deeper into him.
The familiar rumble of the V8 grounded him as he adjusted the heat. The truck’s interior was clean but lived-in—coffee stains on the center console, Ellie’s princess doll with bouffant hair wedged into the cup holder, an air freshener hanging off the rearview mirror.
“Aurora Cove Inn?” He checked even though he already knew the answer. It was the only decent hotel in town.
“Yes, thank you,” George replied from the back seat.
Fifteen minutes later, Ryder pulled into the circular drive of the Inn and put the truck in park, the engine idling.
“This is it,” he said, stating the obvious.
Ivy turned to face him. Some color had returned to her cheeks. “Thank you. For today. And the ride. For everything.”
The memory of her weight in his arms, of how perfectly she’d fit against his chest, sent heat coursing through him.
“Just doing my job.” Even though it hadn’t felt like a job at all.
“No.” Her voice was quiet. “It was more than that.”
George was already halfway out, tossing Ryder a polite thank you in the same tone he might use with a valet.
