“After earlier, I just want to ensure you get home okay,” Wyatt adds quickly, and it could just be me, but it sounded like a few nerves landed in that sentence. As my eyes find his again, he shifts on his feet. “If that’s okay.”
After hearing the word twice in less than thirty seconds, I can’t help but use it a third time. “Okay.”
The childlike quality of pure joy shines through his eyes as they light up. “Great. Are you ready? Or can I buy you a drink first?”
“No,” I shake my head, gesturing to the table with my hand still in my pocket. “I was just coming over to say goodnight. I’ve got an early morning.”
“Thanks for tonight,” Nate says, giving me a nod of acknowledgement.
“Do everything I would do,” Liam quips as a goodbye.
Shaking her head, Savanna rolls her eyes. “See you next shift, unless you want to go for coffee.”
“Maybe,” I nod and give her a smile. “Night Jor.”
“Night girl. Tell Gran I said hi.” She gives a small wave.
I lead Wyatt towards the door, and as we walk, I feel his hand at the small of my back. It reminds me of the times he did it theother night, and I want to sink back into it, to feel more of it against me.
It makes me wonder what it would feel like if I didn’t have my jacket and shirt separating us. His hands were rough when we were dancing, but not in a way that turned me off. It was much like his boots—it said that he worked with them, and his calluses are a trophy of that hard work.
“The old blue Chevy is mine,” he says as we exit the bar.
There are a few people hanging out outside, some smoking, some saying goodbye. They ignore us as we walk past them and into the parking lot, my eyes squinting to try and find the Chevy Silverado he’s talking about. I’m surprised, to be honest. A lot of firefighters I’ve met, who own trucks, prefer a Toyota Tacoma. It’s a stereotype, but it isn’t wrong. I like that Wyatt goes against that.
Except that I don’t see a Silverado, and the closer we get to the only blue truck I do see in the parking lot, the wider my mouth opens. Sitting towards the end of the lot is a beautiful Chevy C10 in all its classic glory.
“Th-that one?” I stumble incredulously.
“Old blue Betty,” he nods, beaming like a proud papa. “My mom loved Betty White. I swear she had Golden Girls on every single day when I’d come home from school. Named her for that.”
Well shit. Not only does he have good taste in vehicles, he has a soft spot for his mom and Betty White. Does it get better than that?
“That’s really sweet. Is she still in Montana?”
“My whole family is, yeah. Mom, Dad, and my three brothers.”
“Three?” My eyes widen, and I turn to look at him as we get to the passenger side of his truck.
“Two older and one younger,” he says, then adds with humorin his voice, “And all pains in the asses.”
I laugh. “Sounds like what I’d imagine siblings to sound like.”
“You’re an only child?”
“Yeah. It was just dad, mom, and me. My grandparents were around a lot too. My parents had lots of employees, though, so there was always someone to bug. Adults, anyway.”
Many of the winery workers enjoyed paying attention to the little girl in pigtails that loved riding her bike around and taking care of the horses in the stable.
I take a step back from the truck, admiring the outside. It’d be better in the daylight, I know, but I can tell it’s in good condition. “What year is this?”
“69.”
I glance at him, eyebrow raised. “On purpose?”
A flirtatious smirk crosses his features, his green eyes dancing beneath the parking lot lights. “That’s a third date question, ma’am.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh. “Well, considering you haven’t asked me on a first, I guess we’re a ways off from that.”
