“Marlon told me all y’all had was ATVs and horses.”
Silence.
Then laughter.
“He said that!” Wyatt laughed. “We got trucks, Aurora. Like five of them.”
My eye twitched.
I hate that scheming ass nigga I swear! He probably just wanted me on that horse so he could feel me up!
Patch leaned back, arms crossed. “How’d y’all even get out here in the first place?”
I answered through gritted teeth. “We walked.”
Silence.
Every single one of them looked at me.
Wyatt blinked. “How long did it take?”
Hartland didn’t even let me answer. “Forty minutes!”
Patch shook his head slowly. “In them?” he asked, nodding down at my heels.
“Don’t remind me. I survived but I’m paying for it.”
Wyatt let out a quiet breath through his nose, somewhere between impressed and confused. “You’re something else.”
“I’ve been told that,” I said, securing chewy to his leash and standing up to brush my hands off. “Frequently.”
He looked back toward the direction we came from, then at me again.
“You want shotgun?” he said.
“Yes,” I said immediately. “Please.”
The rideback felt completely different from the walk out.
The engine hummed under us as we moved through the rows, cutting down the time it took to get out here by more than half.
Chewy had his head out the window, enjoying every second of it as Hartland laid out in the bed of the truck, exhausted.
Wind pushed against my face, warm now that the sun had fully come up. The vineyard looked different from this angle—wider, more organized, easier to understand.
“You really walked all the way out here?” Wyatt asked with one hand on the wheel and the other over the headrest of my seat.
“Yes,” I said. “Remind me to strangle Marlon for that.”
We hit a small bump, and I instinctively leaned closer into him to steady myself.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, tightening my grip on Chewy. “He the one who doesn’t give a fuck about his life.”
Wyatt glanced down briefly. “He seems like he’s enjoying himself.”
Chewy’s tongue hung out.
