“Oh, no! Am I late?” I push up the sleeve of my cardigan and glance at my watch. Didn’t we agree to meet at eight? Or was it nine? “I’m so sorry! I’m literally never late.”
“You’re twenty minutes early.”
“Then why the…” I copy his stunned expression by dropping my chin and popping up my eyebrows.
He chuckles. “We’re goin’ for a day. You’ve got—what? One…two…three bags. You’re haulin’ enough supplies to last us a week.”
Thehumiliation. “I wasn’t sure…” He must think I’m ridiculous. “How long does it take to drive to Launceston?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Oh, uh… well…” I bite down so hard on my lip that I’m shocked my teeth don’t pierce the skin.
“I’m just teasin’ you.” Calloused fingers touch my shoulder, and my heart stutters every second they linger. How can such a manly hand be such a gentle reassurance? “There isn’t any harm bein’ prepared.”
A smile threatens to burst onto my face. “Oh, I’m prepared…for fun!”
Sawyer’s eyes pop wide open again.
It’s too late, though. He’s set me off. I pat the bag slung over my shoulder. “I’ve got snacks. Healthyandunhealthy. Water.” I rummage around in the bag hanging over my arm, sifting through the mess to reach the junk at the bottom. “I swear I packed the first aid kit…”
“What’s that?” Sawyer points at the pink box in my hand.
“Oh! Conversation cards! I found them in that little gift shop behind the florist. We can use these if we run out of things to talkabout.” And to avoid any awkward topics—like my pathetic love life or the real estate agent intent on making my life hell.
“We’ve had no problems talkin’ before.”
“Just in case. And I bought us a CD.” I stick the case in front of his nose. “I noticed how much you love music when I was over the other night.”
His eyes flit over the title.Pure Pop: The Hits of 2000. “Ah…”
I grin. There are no pop records in Sawyer’s collection. That’s the whole point. “It sounds awful because it is. We need to pick our favorite worst song.”
As Sawyer’s head bobs in a slow nod, I shrink into a ball. A wave of self-doubt floods over me. I’ve overdone it. I haven’t just gone overboard; I’ve swept a hundred miles out to sea, and no one is going to bother rescuing me.
I can’t look anywhere but my loafers. “You think I’m weird…don’t you?”
“Hey.Hey. Look at me.” His hands brace my shoulders, and he bends down so we’re standing eye to eye. “I don’t think that. You just like plannin’ ahead. No surprises. And I don’t mind that at all. I appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to.”
“It’s the least I could do. You’re driving. And you refused to let me give you any gas money…”
“Damn straight I did.”
His thumb slips into the spot between my fluffy cardigan and the strap of my loose silk shirt, and it soothes the bare skin in a slow, intimate swirl. His head tilts, his eyebrows furrowed. What is he thinking?
My woman doesn’t pay for gas money…
My heart hammers in my chest. I’m skipping into dangerous territory, inventing stories like that in my head, but I can almost hear his deep voice murmuring those words by my ear.
I suck in a sharp breath. “Th-thanks.” Why on earth am I thanking him? For being hot? Nice? God, this is too much. “Soy…”
He barks a laugh and steps back to a much safer distance. “Nice try.”
“Oh, comeon! You call me Hosko. It’s only fair that I give you a nickname.”
“Sure. You can call me… Sawyer.” He grins.
He insists on taking all my bags and loading them into the truck and then offers me his hand so I can climb inside. Before I grab on, I shrug off my cardigan.
