“I’m going to build something for Lola.”
I tugged at the strapping. Secure. Not going anywhere. My fingertips traced the coarse bark, the chipped edges of the mottled crust barely hinting at the red timber underneath.
A knot tightened in my chest. Maybe that piece of blackwood was like me. Hard and rough on the outside, but a rich golden heartwood waiting on the inside if someone could be bothered to find it. With some patience, even that broken old stump could be turned into something useful—beautiful—for Lola.
Becauseof Lola.
“You good, old man?” Harry grinned. “Need some time alone with your hunk of tree there?”
I shoved him closer to the passenger door. “Save it.”
“You’re gonna need more than your…wood…to get back in Lola’s good books.” He wiggled his eyebrows. When I didn’t burst out laughing at his joke, he rolled his eyes. “You got those messages from Hollyoak, right? Lola’s on the warpath!”
I groaned. I didn’t need the reminder—and warpath was an understatement.
Hollyoak, his head stuffed with cow feed, had dumped me on top of his manure pile. He’d been too busy fluttering his eyelashes at Lola overcoffeeto turn his brain on and make up a decent excuse to cover our backsides.
Sorry, he’d said. Didn’t realise she was so smart, he’d said.
Had Hollyoak paid any attention to Lola at all? She was sweeter than damn sugar but smart as a whip. She’d had him over a barrel, spewing all the details of our meeting with Evan before he even blinked.
My jaw clenched. I dragged the seat belt over my chest, and my eyes locked on the scowl darkening my rearview mirror as I reversed out of the motel parking lot.
I was pissed as hell, but… What was I angry about? Getting caught for dealing with Evan? I wasn’t sorry about that. The first time I’d rocked up to his garage, I should have done a better job. I was prepared to wear Lola’s wrath if it meant she was safe.
I loathed to admit it, but the thing sticking in my gut was those bloody messages from Hollyoak after hiscoffeeswith Lola.
She was just peachy, he’d said. No problems to report. My reply? Awesome. Smiley face. He’d treated her to a drink at the bar, too. Cool, hope she had a good time. He’d walked her home. I’d pretended to ignore that message even though my fingers itched to reply with the emoji of a hand flipping the bird and then toss my phone at a wall.
My jaw clenched tighter.
Screw Hollyoak.
Harry craned his neck to peer at me from the passenger seat. “You doing okay there, old man?” He nodded at my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Are you jealous of the farmer spending time with your woman?”
I grunted. “She’s not my woman.”
“What’s the issue then?”
I wanted to be the one pushing open the coffee shop door for Lola and pulling out the chair so she could sit down. Jealousy didn’t even begin to describe the dark, ugly feeling twisting my gut.
“They’ve been havingcoffeetogether. Every damn day we’ve been gone.” I threw Harry a helpless look because this was killing me, and I had no idea how to handle it. “Iscoffeelike when Ruth tells me to dress nice? What doescoffeeactually mean?”
“In Ryan’s case? It means they drink a coffee.”
I relaxed my fingers. Tension eased from my hands as I turned the truck onto the highway. But I still scowled like a grumpytoddler when I mumbled, “Why does he get to have coffee with Lola every day?”
“Have youaskedLola to have a coffee with you?”
“Well, uh… I mean…” I sighed. “Not exactly.”
“There’s your answer.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Give me some tips, then? How do I talk to her?”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “You’re askingmefor advice?”
“You’ve had girlfriends, right?”
