Page 21 of Property of my Boss

I shrug as I turn at the painted sign at the corner that points toward Fall Fest. “I don’t know. I mean, I think love is pretty simple, actually. When you know, you know.”

“Not what you were saying earlier about your ex. You were all conflicted about him.”

“Yeah, but then I thought about what you said and I think you’re right. If Victor and I were meant to be together, we’d have figured something out by now.”

“Well damn,” Tucker groans, bumping the side of my arm playfully. “Someone mark the date. I’ve never been right a day in my life.”

“Ha, ha, ha.” I shake my head and roll to a stop at the corner lot near the diner.

“There’s a better spot up there by the tattoo shop. It’ll be easier to get out later if the road gets busy.”

“Yeah, but that would require me to back this thing up, and I don’t do reverse.”

“What do you mean you don’t do reverse?” He grins and turns toward me. “You drove this thing all the way here like a bad ass and now you’re telling me you don’t reverse?”

“Nope!” I shrug. “Sorry. My brain can’t do the opposite steps and play with the foot buttons at the same time.”

“Foot buttons?” He laughs. “Dear God, woman. What are you saying?”

I pull up the handbrake and glance toward him. “I’m saying if you want the truck parked up there, you’re going to have to move it yourself.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head and stares toward me, his gaze on mine, heavy and warm. “I think you did a pretty good job. We’re good here.”

“Thanks,” I say, biting back a grin.

“You stay here. I’m coming around to help you out.”

Why does this man have to be so perfect? Why couldn’t he have a snaggletooth, or a back hump, or terrible breath? Why couldn’t he insult my driving, my outfit, or something. Anything to make me remember what an idiot I’m being.

The driver’s side door clicks open and he helps me down, tucking his big rough hand against mine like it’s official. As if without words, we’ve decided our truth.

I don’t hate it. In fact, I love it here in the warmth of his arms, and I want more. More of him. More of this. More of this moment with the man I shouldn’t want. More of everything with a man I shouldn’t have let touch me.

Dear God, I might need an intervention.

Hand still in his, I stare down Main Street, watching everyone pass by with cups of hot apple cider and cinnamon sugar donuts. It’s the most wholesome scene with families all smiling and happy, bluegrass music live on the stage behind us, and lampposts decorated with garlands of leaves. There are even scarecrows in every shop window. This sight always brings a smile to my face. Rugged Mountain is famous for their shop window contests come holiday time. People come for miles to see them decorated and vote on their favorite.

In the field behind the shops are at least fifty booths with vendors, a few games, a ring of ponies, and a pen with highland cows. The bandstand with the bluegrass band sits behind all of that with a crowd of folks dancing. The scent, though, is what draws people here. I’m pretty sure the locals wait all year long for a taste of all the fresh mountain apple treats they can’t get the rest of the year.

Donuts, cobbler, pie, muffins, bread, jellies, jams, you name it, this place is selling it flavored with apples, and it smells incredible.

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’m going to get you a slice of pizza and a Coke.” He nods toward a table at the edge of the booth. “Wait right here.”

I nod and try not to feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

This isn’t permanent. This feeling isn’t real. Sure, it’s nice that the man knows what he wants, is good at giving orders, wants to take care of me, and is mega hot, but that doesn’t mean he’s good for me long term, right?

My brother would say no. He would never accept this as a relationship. He’d, in fact, lose his mind no matter how hard Mira tried to convince him that he’s crazy. He’s been like that since our parents died. I know he feels responsible for me. Truth be told, it might be good that someone is responsible for me. Clearly, I love making terrible decisions.

That said, I bailed on dinner tonight, haven’t returned his calls, and have no intention of talking to him until I know something real about this case, though I’d have to pull my head out of my ass to do that, and I’m not sure when that moment of clarity will be. Plus, I’m starting to wonder if maybe Tucker really didn’t have anything to do with Wren’s disappearance. He let me sleep in his cabin, and he wouldn’t have done that if he thought there was something to hide. That would be stupid, right?

I watch him as he stands at the pizza booth. His big, inked arms, his broad shoulders, his thick neck, his strong, wide back. The man is carved from stone, and for the life of me, I can’t figure what he sees in me. Maybe that’s the clue I’ve been looking for.

A good man who looks like him would never date me.

When our food is up, he grabs the tray off the counter and stalks back toward me with the same grimace on his face he was born with. It’s then that I notice we have an audience.

“Can you go anywhere without drawing attention?” I say, nodding toward the group of women who are staring straight at him and giggling from the other side of the apple cider stand.