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“Of course,” he says, slinging the strap over his shoulder like it’s filled with feathers. I hang a light jacket over my arm and step into the hall, letting the hotel room click closed behind me. Then he lightly touches my back, guiding me down the hall.
“Livvie’s in the truck waiting for us. We’re all packed and ready to go. Have you had breakfast yet?”
I shake my head. “I was going to pick up a banana or a muffin on my way out.”
“Or, I stopped by Hugh’s place and picked up some pastries. You could have one of those.”
My eyes widen at the same time my stomach grumbles. “Are they any good?”
“The best,” he says conspiratorially. “Don’t tell him that. He’ll get a head as big as his muscles.”
I snort-laugh and cover my mouth with my hand, horrified at the sound coming out of me.
Ryan grins, showing off that dimple of his.
When we get to his extended cab truck, he hefts the duffle back over the bed and ties it down, then opens the passenger side door, holding his hand out to help me up. It’s an older Chevy truck, with a boxy look to it. On the inside, everything looks pristine.
When I climb in, I glance back at Livvie and wave. “Hey. You feeling better?”
She stops mid-bite of her chocolate-drizzled croissant and says around a mouth full of pastry, “Much. I wasn’t gonna miss this.”
Ryan climbs in and buckles his seatbelt.
“I didn’t know you had a truck too,” I say to him.
He lifts a shoulder. “I’m a mechanic. And a tow truck driver. Cars are pretty much my thing.”
“Do you have a thing for older cars?” I ask running my hand over the soft, newly installed leather upholstery.
“I have a thing for bench seats,” he says, wagging his brows. “I like the idea of having someone sitting right next to me rather than having a giant console between us.”
With that statement hanging in the air, I look at the shiny tan leather of the seat between us. Was that a hint that he wants me to scooch over? In front of Livvie?
He glances over his shoulder at Livvie. “You wanna share the food? I just told Carrie how amazing Uncle Hugh’s pastries are. She’ll be upset if I can’t prove it.”
Livvie reaches into the white paper bag with the Pastry Shop’s logo on it and grabs a giant cinnamon roll covered in fluffy white frosting, biting into it.
“How many have you eaten?” Ryan asks.
Livvie lifts a shoulder. “I dunno. A few.”
He reaches back, snapping his fingers a couple of times. “Hand it over. I’m not cleaning up more puke.”
Livvie sighs and shoves the bag at him.
He grabs it and swings the bag to rest on the space between us, shutting down any worries I have about where to sit.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a croissant before nudging it over to me. “Take your pick. Grab one, two, or all of them.”
“Hey!” Livvie calls from the back seat.
“You’ve hit your quota,” he calls back.
“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started,” Livvie says, cocking a defiant eyebrow.
I press my lips together and cough to keep from laughing at the two. When Ryan shoots me a look, I duck my head and rummage through the bag, looking at my options. I settle on a blueberry lemon sweet roll that practically melts in my mouth. I close my eyes and let my saliva do all the hard work. “Mmmmm.”
“Good, huh?” Ryan says, though his words are somewhat muffled.
