Page 122 of Saltwater Cowboy

“You decent?”

I smirked. “That depends.”

The door cracked open, and Wells peeked in, his eyes sweeping over me before he leaned against the frame. “Look at you,” he said, his voice warm with approval.

I raised an eyebrow. “Good or bad?”

His lips quirked up. “Definitely good.”

I tried not to let that go to my head. “And you clean up pretty well yourself,” I said, eyeing his dark jeans and button-up shirt. It was a small shift from his usual T-shirts and flannels, but damn, did it make a difference. “Didn’t need help this time, I see.”

“Sure didn’t.” He chuckled. “Ready to go?”

I grabbed my jacket and nodded. “Lead the way.”

As we stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around us, carrying the distant hum of weekend life in town. Wells opened the truck door for me, and I climbed in, settling into the worn leather seat. The one I’ve become very used to sitting in.

“Still not telling me where we’re going?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He shot me a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Nope.”

I sighed dramatically, but truthfully, I didn’t mind. For once, it was nice to sit back and let someone else take the reins.

And something told me that whatever Wells had planned, it was going to be a night worth remembering.

Wells turned the key in the ignition, and the truck rumbled to life. The familiar scent of leather and something distinctly him filled the cabin, making it feel impossibly cozy. As he pulled onto the road, he reached for the radio dial, glancing at me with a playful smirk.

“So, you wanna listen to some country music?”

I groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Do I have a choice?”

He chuckled, flicking through the stations until a twangy guitar filled the truck. “Not really.”

I shot him a look. “You realize I didn’t grow up on this stuff, right?”

“Oh, I know.” His smirk deepened and a dimple popped in his right cheek. “That’s why I’m doing my part to fix that.”

Shaking my head, I leaned back against the seat, crossing my arms. “I can appreciate a good song, but if it’s all about trucks, beer, and heartbreak, I’m out.”

Wells tapped the steering wheel in time with the beat, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Alright, how about this—one song. If you hate it, I’ll switch to whatever you want.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Any song?”

“Any song.”

I exhaled dramatically. “Fine. But it better be a good one.”

He nodded like he took the challenge seriously, adjusting the volume just as the first verse started. The melody was smooth, the lyrics less about trucks and more about slow dancing in a parking lot, love that felt like home.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Okay… this isn’t terrible.”

Wells grinned. “See? Told you.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t fight it. There was something about the way he sat behind the wheel, so at ease in his world, that made me want to enjoy it too.

The road stretched ahead, leading us into downtown Wippowa, and as the song played on, I found myself tapping my fingers lightly against my knee, letting the music settle in. Maybe country music wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

WHAT MY WORLD SPINS AROUND