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Hmm, so he’s been busy chatting up Gram over breakfast. I’m sure she liked the company.
Gram or Marty could’ve also run his credit card.
Again, I’m reading too much into him.
He’s refined, cultured, polished, and insanely determined to land his next payday.
The polar opposite of Weston in so many ways, besides hard work and a vaguely similar interest in cars. That must just be part of the male DNA.
“Wish I could help. I don’t know what’s coming, either, unfortunately,” I say. I do know the make and model of basically every car in storage, but it wouldn’t help him.
Grandpa’s collection isn’t for sale.
“Of course.” He nods politely. “Perhaps when you have a spare minute, you could show me around? I’d be delighted to help you take inventory.”
Yeah, no, for several reasons.
One being the human saguaro cactus in the barn right now who might start ripping heads off if he finds anyone snooping around the cars. Lord only knows what he’d say if I led Carson in there right now.
“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m kinda busy right now,” I lie.
“No big deal. When are you off again? I’d love to buy you dinner for the trouble and talk more about this town. I’m looking for ideas, anything I might’ve overlooked. The rarest finds are always right under your nose. Your grandmother mentioned this interesting place I’d like to check out with a ton of old signs on the walls. The Purple Bobcat?”
I shake my head. “That’s...not really a dinner joint. It used to be a biker bar, but now it’s more of a sports bar and cozy hangout.”
It’s also owned by Weston’s uncle, Grady McKnight. Reason number one thousand why it looks like I won’t be able to ignore him today.
“She said they serve the best brews around and I’m guessing you’re a beer girl. Let me guess—peanut butter stout?” He presses a hand to his head like he’s mentally reading me.
Really? Do I look like a peanut butter stout girl?
Maybe his polish is all surface deep.
Still, I snort out a laugh.
“Not on your life,” I tell him. “You got the beer part right, though. I’ll take a nice citrus IPA or a Trappist beer any day.”
“A woman of taste. I like it,” he says with a slanted look that heats my cheeks. “Also, I’d love a chance to talk to you about some of the history I’ve learned about this town. Your grandmother says you’re the local expert.”
“Eh, there’s no town historian, really,” I throw back. “I guess I’m the closest thing since I still obsess over this place and I have the degrees, but I haven’t lived here for years.”
Again, his smile nails me between the eyes and leaves me feeling...some kind of way.
I just wish Gram would be a little more tight-lipped with the guests. What if Carson Hudson wasn’t so gentlemanly and turned out to be a weirdo creeper?
“How about Saturday night?” he asks, driving his luck home. “Thelma says she has a friend coming over to visit, so I bet you’ll be free.”
Oh, God. This is all making a terrible kind of sense now.
Gram’s setting me up for a date. What the hell?
On second thought...
What. The. Hell.
He’s handsome, educated, and we clearly share some interests.
Glancing back at the barn and then at Carson, I muster a smile worthy of a woman who’s being asked out by a pretty decent guy.
