His curious grin returns. “You get nervous backing out?”
Beck does not need to know the extent to which I fear and loathe backing out.
“Sometimes,” I grind out.
He holds out his hand, palm up. “Want me to do it for you?”
His offer surprises me. And it’s tempting. So tempting.
But then I hear Alicia Milton telling Beck that I’m not independent, and I shake my head.
“I’ve got it.” I pop the lock, but before I can open the driver’s side door, Beck beats me to it. And like the gentleman he is, he offers his hand.
I don’t need help climbing into the Jeep, but I’m not stupid. I’m not missing a chance to hold Beck’s hand one more time before I go.
When I’m behind the wheel and buckled in, I expect Beck to close the door, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he steps closer, and I get another chance to take in the amber of his eyes up close.
He releases my hand and reaches up to the Jeep’s roof. He must grip the cargo rack because muscle and sexy man veins stand out like a pop-up storybook.
“I’m hoping for a goodbye kiss, but I’m not gonna let myself touch you while you give it.” He shakes his head. “I don’t trust myself.”
And out of all the lovely things he’s said to me today, this might be my favorite. Because thinking about how our other two kisses went, I believe him.
“Fair enough.” My voice squeaks just a little.
I lean in, and he sways toward me. Our lips meet. But I’m not gripping a cargo rack, so I grip his face instead. And again, it’s good.
It’s so good.
And it’s not long before Beck’s groan hums against my mouth. When he pulls away, he looks like it physically hurts, and I bet I’m wearing the same look.
Because it fucking does hurt.
He takes a deep breath and steps back. “Interruptions notwithstanding,” he says with a crooked grin, “Best date of my life.”
Then he shuts the door and, as I requested, he beats a path to the Farmers Market, leaving me to reverse in peace.
“Hell, yes,” I say.
Chapter Nine
BECK
The growl of thunder wakes me Sunday morning, and my first thought is I’m so fucking grateful Mother Nature has my back today. And then I grin into the gray, rain-streaked light.
Hattie.
I stayed up way too late talking to her on the phone last night. Like a teenager.
Laughing. Learning.
And when I finally fell asleep, I did it burying my face into the memory of her kiss.
I roll onto my back and rub a hand over my chest, soothing the spot that both tingles and aches.
It takes some digging through the covers to find my phone, and when I do, panic strikes like a water moccasin.
