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“Don’t worry; you’ve survived worse,” I assure him.
An hour later, we are standing at a long Formica table, folding the mounds of clothing, still warm from the dryer.
Corbin clears his throat and holds up a hip-length silk nightgown.
“That’s tame. You should see the things I have tucked in my lingerie drawer,” I tell him.
“Tonight,” he growls.
I tap a finger against my lips, as if contemplating it.
“You did help me here today, so I guess you deserve a peek,” I say.
Heat sparks in his eyes.
I predict we’ll be using a few of those packets after all.
He tosses the baskets into the back of the cab, and we make our way out of the parking lot.
As we turn onto Main Street, a car passes, going the opposite direction, and Corbin turns and watches it in the rearview mirror.
I turn and look over my left shoulder. “Who was that?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nobody.”
All righty.
On our way home, we stop at the market.
“I’m going to cook for you tonight,” he says as he parks.
“You cook?” I ask.
“I’m a fireman. Of course I cook,” is his strange reply. “Wait here,” he says.
Ten minutes later, he returns with two bags of groceries.
“I hope you like Italian,” he says as he places the bags in the bed of the truck.
Who doesn’t like Italian?
This man is full of surprises. He cooks, he cleans, he’s good with his hands and mouth and other body parts.
That ex of his is out of her damn mind if she thinks there’s something better than Corbin Tuttle out there.
After dinner, we decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather we’re having and take Suga for a ride. We walk out to the building to the side of the cabin and I open the double doors and click on the light.
“There she is,” I say as Suga is illuminated.
He gives a low whistle.
“She’s a beauty.”
“I know. She’s my pride and joy,” I agree.
He circles the Harley a couple of times then stops and slings a leg over her seat. He grabs the handlebars and looks over at me.
“You going to let me take her for a spin?”
