Asking Grüsh about it now is pointless. I’m on my way, and that’s all that matters. But the oddness of it won’t stop niggling at me. And when the driver turns onto a side road, that niggling becomes an alarm bell.
I think the limo driver is kidnapping me.
I fire off the text to Grüsh, immediately following it up with another one.
I’m not joking. He left the main road for no reason. We’re on a side road out past Ogram’s farm. This isn’t the way to the airport.
It’s three hours earlier on the west coast. Grüsh might not be awake yet. He might not get these texts until it’s too late.
The car is slowing down and pulling into what looks like a barely tamped-down path in the tall grass.
He parked but the engine is still running and he’s not getting out of the front seat.
Oh my god, he just put up the divider thingy.
He’s probably getting the chloroform ready.
Sending you a pin of my location so you know where to send the search party.
This is the worst ending to a second-chance love story ever.
I’m mid-I love youtext when the rear door begins to open. I shriek as sunlight bends around my assailant’s silhouette, then launch my phone at him as I scramble toward the other door.
“Fuck,” accompanies a husky grunt, followed by, “Cate,” just as my fingers curl around the opposite door handle. “It’s me.”
All the air goes out of me when I look over my shoulder and see Grüsh leaning into the backseat. I lunge for him, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face against him as he guides me out of the car.
The door closes behind me, the sound of tires crunching against rough ground lasting only a few seconds. Then all vehicle noise is gone.
“What the hell is happening?” I say, looking up at Grüsh’s face.
His smiling face. “Hopefully the best ending ever to a second-chance love story.”
I gasp, my bottom lip dropping so far, I could probably give a snake’s unfused jaw a run for the money. “You were reading my frantic texts and didn’t reply?”
“In my defense, you sent them pretty rapid-fire. And you know I’m a slow texter because my fingers are a lot bigger and I struggle with the tiny alphabet on a phone.”
“You could’ve called!” I press my palms against his massive chest and push, but he doesn’t release me. “No buttons required. ‘Hey Siri, call Cate.’ But no. Instead, I was left thinking I’d end up on the front page of theHarmony Glen Gazette. ‘Local bar owner murdered on the way to finally,finally, begin a life with her true mate. Grieving rock star pens memorial ballad that goes multi-Platinum. Panty sales spike nationwide as fans stockpile in preparation for his upcoming tour.’”
His deep laughter rings out in the peaceful air. “That’s what was going through your head?”
“No,” I say, scowling up at him. “I was thinking how much I love you, how much I’ve always loved you, and wishing I’d told you more, wishing I’d said I love you every single time I had the chance, and that I’d never get to tell you again.”
All traces of amusement leave his expression. He cradles my head in one of his big palms and guides my cheek to his chest. “I’m sorry. I booked your flight out of Rochester so that your route took you in the direction I needed you to come. I thought you’d have settled in for the drive to the airport, reading that new book that arrived before I left, and you wouldn’t notice Tomas’s detour off the main road. I wanted to surprise you, but I should’ve called after your second text.”
“You know I don’t like surprises.” A half hiccup, half sob rocks my chest. “The surprises in my life haven’t been good.”
“One of them was.” His fingers slide beneath my chin and he gently tips my face up. “The surprise of meeting a troll on a hill outside of town.”
“That was the best surprise,” I say, letting myself sink into him.
“I hope this will be the second best, even though it didn’t begin well.” He dips down, sealing his lips to mine in a soul-deep kiss that absolves him of any lingering testiness my self-protection instinct was clinging to. When it ends, he takes a half step back and looks down at our feet. His are bare, same as the day we met, on a hill not far from here. “Are your shoes comfortable for walking?”
“Comfortable enough to wear all day and run to catch a flight if I had to, which we’ll both have to do if the surprise is you flying to Los Angeles with me. The clock’s ticking on this detour.”
“We’re not going to LA.”
“Why?”
