Page 25 of Heartbeats & Highways

“Of course I took the bus.” I frowned. “You told me where the bus stop was. What else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to walk.”

“You didn’t call me.”

“Why would I call you?” I demanded.

“So I could’ve gotten the flour for you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I stated.

“I don’t like you riding the bus at night,” he said gruffly. He took a bite of his sandwich.

“Is this okay?” I gestured to my outfit. “What I’m wearing?”

“Not as nice as the nightgown, but it’ll do.”

“Savage!” My face flamed with heat.

He chuckled. “You look fine. Why are you worried?”

“I don’t know what to wear to an interview at a tattoo parlor,” I murmured.

“Exactly what you’re wearing. You’re a shoo-in.”

I reached for the sandwich on my plate. We ate in silence until he polished off the last bite of his food.

“So, you bake bread?” he asked.

“Yes.” I plucked a piece of bacon from the plate that had fallen from my sandwich and popped it into my mouth.

“Why?”

I paused and looked at him. “What do you mean,why?”

“I mean, baking your own bread. That’s so . . . life on the prairie.”

“I grew up on a farm. Baking bread was part of that life.”

“No kidding? Like with chickens and stuff?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Have you ever had freshly baked sourdough?”

“Don’t think so.”

“You’d know. And I make it because I like to. Don’t you have things in your life you do just for the sheer enjoyment of it?”

“I guess.”

“Like what?”

He thought for a moment and then replied, “Long rides on my motorcycle.”

I finished the sandwich and then picked up Savage’s plate and set it in the sink.

“I missed you last night,” he said.

“Missed me?” I asked, trying for nonchalant even though my insides swirled with pleasure. “Oh?”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

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