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There's a spark of interest in her eyes that tells me she's not entirely opposed to the idea. And that's enough to give me hope.
Chapter 5
Scarlett
The hum of the Mustang's engine fills the heavy silence stretching between us as Jett guides the car down the endless ribbon of highway with the confident ease of someone who's spent countless hours behind the wheel.
His hands are sure and steady, one resting lazily on the wheel while the other dangles out the open window. He looks completely at ease like he was born to ride the open road.
Probably comes with being a rock star, I guess. Must be nice.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, trying to be subtle. The way the late afternoon sun plays across his chiseled features makes my heart stutter.
Damn him. Even after all these years, Jett still has the uncanny ability to tie my insides into knots like it's his job.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little bit envious of how calm and collected he seems, cool as a damn cucumber, while I'm over here squirming in my seat, a ball of nervous energy.
I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body, making my skin prickle with awareness.
Frustrated, I shift around, trying to find a position that doesn't make me feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin if he so much as breathes in my direction.
I'll be damned if I let Jett “too sexy for his own good” Silver get under my skin.
Jett's voice breaks the stillness, startling me. “You know, I sold the car once? Stupidest decision of my life.”
The undercurrent of regret in his voice surprises me. I thought Jett lived life without a backward glance. “What happened?”
Jett caresses the wheel with almost reverent tenderness. “I needed the cash, but I never stopped thinking about this car. As soon as I had the means, I tracked her down. Restored every inch myself.”
The revelation casts Jett in a new light. It's a far cry from the reckless, devil-may-care attitude I associate with him.
“Enough about my checkered past,” Jett says, his tone lightening. “There's this little pie shack up ahead, just off the highway.”
I blink, unsure if I've heard correctly. “You? At a roadside diner?”
“Just because I can afford caviar doesn’t mean I don’t crave a little small-town flavor now and then.” His eyes dance as they lock onto mine, daring me to disagree. “Trust me, darlin', this place is worth the detour. Best damn pie in the whole state.”
His enthusiasm draws me in, melting my defenses like sunshine on snow.
“Okay,” I give in, letting out a dramatic sigh and ignoring how his use of endearment makes my heart race.
“But this better be some life-changing, orgasmic, slap-your-mama good pie, or I swear to God, Jett...”
“Oh, it will be,” he promises with a wink, and I feel a flush rising to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the summer heat.
The pie shack is exactly that—a tiny, ramshackle building that looks like it was cobbled together from scraps of wood and corrugated tin, standing stubbornly against the test of time.
Jett pulls the Mustang into the gravel parking lot, tires crunching and kicking up a dust cloud hanging in the air like a hazy veil.
But the moment we step inside, I'm hit with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked pastries and rich, fragrant coffee. The scent wraps around me like a warm hug, and I breathe deeply, feeling the tension melt from my shoulders.
The place has a rustic charm, with gingham curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open windows and mismatched chairs scattered around worn wooden tables. It's like stepping back in time when things were less complicated.
An elderly woman emerges from the kitchen, her face lighting up at the sight of Jett. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!”
Jett returns Maggie’s warm grin, his entire demeanor softening. “Wouldn't miss a chance to eat one of your pies for the world, Maggie.”
The woman pulls Jett in a motherly hug, leaving a dusting of white powder on the shoulders of his leather jacket.
