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“Oh my.” He catches the bear just in time.
“You’ve gotta be gentle with him,” I add.
“I know. I’m usually gentle, trust me. I am.” Then he pauses, as if thinking about how to justify his lack of gentleness. He sighs, head down. “It’s been a hard day.”
Oh, Rob.
“And it’s all because of a stuffed bear,” he adds. “Well, not just that… but you know what I mean. How do you do this for a living?”
I send him a calming smile. “They’re the best things in the world. There’s a reason why people describe a comforting sensation as ‘warm and fuzzy.’ It’s what these furry toys are. Ask Matthew.”
This time he looks down, grimacing to himself. “You know what…?” He reaches under his t-shirt neckline. He removes a gold necklace, and without saying anything he rounds me. The next thing I know, his warm fingers graze at my nape, fastening the gold chain which is now adorning my neck.
Now I believe him when he says he’s usually gentle. His touch is like a cloud, a far cry from that of my con-man date—which I now know why it felt strange.
“No… I can’t…” I stutter, although my body stands without resistance when Rob adjusts the necklace, freeing my ponytail from the loop.
“Consider it a receipt.”
“For what?”
“For my gratefulness,” he says, pointing at Bjork. “You can return it when you get your necklace back. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
Rob Hartley. He should be nothing more than pleasant company who softened the blow to my ego, but if a girl doesn’t feel smitten after being on the receiving end of his charm, she’s a castle of ice. If he says or does one more thing to me, I’ll be in trouble.
When we arrive at my house, he says, “Actually, Amber-Rose, can I ask you for one more favor?”
“Of course.”
“Would you give Bjork back to Matthew?”
Anddamn, that ‘one more thing’ has happened. I instruct my legs not to give up on me. How can I say no to Rob’s request?
“Sure. I’d be honored.”
“Thank you.”
While I’m thinking Matthew might be in the Santa Maria hospital, or maybe in Santa Barbara, it turns out we’re heading for the airport.
“We’re in LA. Are you sure this is okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I won’t back down now.
There are a couple of security guards standing at the airport gate, and a guy who appears to be the airport manager nods and shakes Rob’s hand. As if the manager had handed over the airport to him, Rob leads us to the runway, where a chopper and its pilot are waiting for us.
Hartley Marine.
It’shischopper?
“Wyatt, this is Amber-Rose, who has just rescued Bjork,” Rob introduces me to the pilot, who wears a jumpsuit like he's about to go into battle. If Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell fromTop Gunever aged, he’d look like Wyatt.
“Nice to meet you,” I say as the man helps me aboard.
Inside, I realize it’s not just a chopper like the ones you go in to have fun skydiving, where the interior is exposed metal, the seats are narrow and covered in fake leather, and the seat belts are hard to put on. It’s a Rolls Royce of a helicopter. The upholstery (looks to be real leather) is spotlessly white, with a cream plush carpet that probably costs a lot to clean. There are cup holders and fully-stocked snack cubes in between the seats.
Who is this man?
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