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In true lawyer fashion, rather than just answering the question, he raises a brow. “Why?”

“He’s interested in Keeley, apparently,” I reply. “He’s in a band, right? You know Keeley would eat that up, so I’m assessing the situation first.”

He shrugs, failing to answer once again. “You know, Graham asked about her too,” he says. The admission is reluctant, as he is staunchly against getting involved in his brothers’ personal lives.

I bark a laugh. “Your brother? Never.”

He glares at me before his gaze returns to the road. “What’s wrong with Graham? I’ve already heard plenty about how attractive you find the men in my family.”

I laugh again. He heard me tell Keeley once that his brothers were hot and he’s been quietly bitter about it ever since. “They are so, so hot. All of them.”

“You can stop now,” he mutters.

I smile. “Nothing is wrong with Graham. But can you imagine him with Keeley? Mr. Responsibility with Miss ‘Lucky Charms is a health food and retirement planning is for dorks’? His head would explode.”

He shrugs and then frowns. “Shit,” he says under his breath, pulling the car over to the shoulder and coming to a stop.

“Did you finally realize we’ve been driving the wrong way for two hours?”

He gives me a dirty look as he pops the hood and climbs out. “No, but thanks for letting me know how you feel, again. The car’s making a noise.”

I sigh loudly. Even if he does hear a noise and even if he knew, inexplicably, how to fix it, what’s he going to do—carve a new part out of wood? There’s nothing but trees for miles.

“I think it’s the alternator,” he announces, climbing back in the car.

“The alternator? How would you possibly know that?”

“I didn’t always work in an office,” he says.

I’m pretty sure he did always work in an office. I picture him being born in a tiny suit and tie, immediately demanding a higher quality formula than the one offered by the hospital.

He examines the map. “We’d better get someone to take a look. I wouldn’t want you stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, as you so charmingly referred to it.”

It all seems really unnecessary. His BMW is barely two years old—the odds that something is seriously wrong are slim.

He drives us a few miles away, to a tiny town that barely appeared on the map.

“Is the name of this place actually Hickory Hills?” I ask, as we pass a carved wooden sign on its outskirts.

He’s on his phone, looking for the service station. “I guess. Why?”

“Because it’s so…Hallmark. I mean, it even looks like a town in a Hallmark movie.” I’m practically hanging out the window to get a better look. We are on Main Street, now, which also seems to be their only street. There’s a cute little coffee shop, an ancient drugstore and a retro diner but little else.

Ben’s ignoring me, frowning at his phone. “I’m gonna drive down to the gas station and get them to take a look,” he says, stopping beside a small cafe. “You want to run in and grab us some coffee? I’ll walk back and meet you in a few.”

“Sure,” I reply, kissing him on the cheek. “It’ll all be fine.” I really hate surprises, and nothing about this experience is proving that wrong so far, but I imagine he’s a lot more stressed than I am. He’s wanted this weekend away for a while.

My heels catch in the divots in the cute brick sidewalk. I guess I should have changed before we left the office, but I had no idea he was going to be depositing me in Backwoods, USA.

I enter the coffee shop and a tiny bell over the door announces my arrival. A cat lounges in the window seat, which I assume is a health code violation. “Well,” says the woman behind the counter, “I can tell you’re not from these parts.” She nods at my outfit.

I force a smile. “No,” I reply. “Can I get—”

“Los Angeles, I’m guessing?” she asks.

“Right,” I tell her. “I guess the suit gave it away. Could I get—”

“My sister used to live in LA. Silverlake. You ever go there?”