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Undeterred by his indecision, Del climbed into her truck, turned its engine over, and lowered the driver’s side window.
“Come on, Isaac. Live a little for once.”
“But what if—?” He caught himself before finishing.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll be safe with me.”
Strangely, he believed that. He was also sick to death of sitting at home, in a home that wasn’t even his. On a sigh of resignation, he rose to put his laptop inside and prayed this decision would not blow up in his face.
Chapter Eight
Del watched Isaacslip inside with his laptop. Why was he so averse to leaving this place? Was it a phobia? Some aversion to crowds that kept him at home and alone most of the time? But he never seemed to be all that shy around her. Especially not when he’d pulled her in for a kiss Sunday night.
Oh, wait—she shouldn’t be thinking about that, not after he’d just told her straight up that it’d been a mistake he wasn’t planning to make again. Funny, as she’d been telling herself the same thing all weekend. Only, coming from him, the words had stung a bit.
He stepped outside, looking skittish as a doe, and Del pushed her thoughts about kisses aside. Right now, she needed to get this man into her truck so she could show him just how special her hometown was. Once he understood that, he could build them the perfect website.
Because unlike Mia, after listening to him ramble these last thirty minutes or so, she had zero doubt this man was capable of such a thing.
Isaac paused outside her passenger door before opening it and climbing cautiously inside. Tension radiated off the poor guy, and Del almost felt badly for all the nudging she’d done to get him there. Almost.
“Attaboy.” She snapped her seat belt into place. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hermit, I’ll have you home in time to tuck Louie in for the night.”
“Lucky for us both, he’s in the middle of his evening nap.” He snapped his belt into place as well. “Otherwise, he might have insisted on joining us.”
“Evening nap?”
Isaac nodded. “He loves naps nearly as much as he loves food. And trust me, Louie is all about food.”
“As heavy as he was to carry, I believe it.”
Del turned her radio down and angled for the main road, trying not to notice the way Isaac’s knuckles were turning white in his fisted hands. Whatever this phobia of his was, it was the real deal. Time to get him talking to take his mind off things.
“So, have you ever lived in a small town before?”
“Nope. Suburbs outside small cities, maybe, but nothing like here.” His gaze shifted from the passing soybean fields to her. “Have you ever lived anywhere else?”
“I lived in West Lafayette for a few years, while I was attending college at Purdue. It was way bigger than Bourbon Falls. Heck, just the campus has more people than we do.”
“But you came back.”
“I did.” She shrugged. “Everything I’ve ever needed is here. My family, my friends. And—thanks to the land donation from my father and Chase’s willingness to put up with me—my business, too.”
Fields soon gave way to the large sprawling yards stretched beneath clusters of mature trees on the edge of town. After that came the smaller yards like hers, holding modest homes with welcoming porches and detached garages. Sidewalks ran parallel to the grid of streets connecting this area to downtown, and streetlamps stood at each intersection, providing broad swaths of light to the handful of kids still out riding their bikes.
“You’ve probably read all this online already, but since we’re trying to get the right vibe for the website, I’m gonna play tour guide for a minute. Cool?”
“Be my guest.”
“Okay, so Bourbon Falls has history dating back before the Civil War. The Potawatomi Indians had trails throughout the area, following our streams and small waterfalls. Then settlers migrating westward were taken by the area’s beauty, and a small settlement sprang up. When the railroad arrived here in the mid-eighteen hundreds, our population grew by leaps and bounds. That’s where we got half our name, actually—from the railroad that came north out of Bourbon Township, Kentucky. It also influenced the naming of just about everything that sprang up in the area afterward.”
Isaac chuckled. “That definitely explains some of the store names I’ve seen.”
“Don’t be knocking our venue names, buddy. We take great pride in our play on words.” She winked and turned south on Main Street, slowing in front of a squatty, white brick building. “If you ever decide to venture out during normal business hours, the Sweet Mash Diner has the best food in town. Jimmy and Gina Pickett own the place, and they’re phenomenal cooks.”
“Let me guess,” he asked, peering into the storefront’s wide windows. “Friends of yours?”
“Longtime family friends. Plus, my sisters and I all cut our teeth waiting tables there in high school. Also, if you’re into cobbler, they have the best.”
