He knew I didn’t.
“I need to finish up here,” he said, gesturing to the sculpture. “I’ll come pick you up at Lou’s.”
Then he turned and picked his chainsaw back up, dismissing me entirely.
I stood there, mouth open, brain spinning.
Lou patted my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you sorted.”
We walked back to the garage in silence.
This was insane. Bonkers. Certifiable.
But what choice did I have? Sleep in my car and get cited? Call someone? I knew no one in the area and my mother lived almost two thousand miles away. Granted, she’d jump in her car and drive through the night, but still…
No.
I was a grown woman. I could handle one week in a stranger’s house. People did Airbnb all the time. This was basically the same thing.
Except Airbnb didn’t usually involve chainsaws and bedroom eyes and a voice that made you think of rumpled sheets.
Back at the garage, Lou showed me where I could wait—a small office with a coffee maker and a chair that had seen better days. I tried to read something on my phone, but my brain wouldn’t focus.
What was I doing?
Going home with a stranger. A hulking, tattooed stranger who carved animals with chainsaws and lived alone on a mountain. Great.
Momma would lose her mind.
Rule #1: Never get into a truck with a stranger.
It was practically the foundation of her entire Survival Guide for the Modern Woman.
And here I was, about to not only break it, but rewrite it entirely. I wasn’t just climbing into a truck with a stranger. I was about to spend the next few nights with him.
Platonically, but within breathing distance.
Twenty-three minutes later—not that I was counting—I heard the rumble of a truck engine.
I looked out the office window and saw him. Bridger was climbing out of a huge black truck, now wearing a clean black t-shirt, though there was still a scattering of sawdust in his hair.
Of course, my body responded in the most unladylike way.
Lou appeared in the doorway. “He’s here. You ready?”
Was I?
No. Absolutely not.
“Yeah,” I heard myself say.
Lou helped me grab my duffel bag from Scarlet’s trunk, and I followed him out to where Bridger was waiting.
Bridger took the bag from Lou without a word and placed it in the bed of his truck.
“Ready?” he asked, looking at me.
No. Still no.