Page 22 of Forged in Peril

Well, at least they washed it before chalking the price on the windshield. That was something.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said, unable to resist a smile as she leaned down to examine the worn tires with one eyebrow cocked. “What would you name it? Crocus the Focus?”

“Not bad,” she said, returning his smile before schooling her features at once. “I’d at least like to test drive it before you write it off completely. Please.”

He couldn’t exactly say no, not without coming off as a total jerk.

“Be right back,” he said, jogging toward the building at the far side of the lot. He looked over his shoulder as he pulled open the glass door, glad to see that there were only two other people on the lot aside from Bristol, and one of them was Randy himself.

He handed her the keys and got in the passenger side, glad to see that the inside had been detailed, though there was a lingering greasy smell that he couldn’t quite place.

Bristol got in on her side and slid the key into the ignition, but before she turned it, she frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly on alert.

“It’s a standard. I’ve always wanted to learn, but as it stands, I have no idea how to drive stick,” she said, her face breaking into the most genuine smile he’d seen from her all morning. “Alas, Crocus the Focus is not meant to be. But I’m still not getting a Jeep.”

He laughed, and she joined in, the sound of it enough to loosen the knot of anxiety that lingered in his chest.

Goodness, he loved seeing her happy.

She pulled the key out and moved for the door handle, but he reached out and rested a hand gently against her arm before she could step out of the car.

“Whether or not I end up convincing you of the superiority of the almighty Jeep, there’s no need to rush. Why don’t you let me teach you for a few minutes?”

She looked back at him.

“To drive stick? Now?”

“Why not? The owner won’t care, trust me,” he said, trying not to let his nervousness show in his voice. Randy wouldn’t mind, that much was true, but he knew that trying to crack Bristol’s shell was always going to be risky. “Besides, most of our ops vehicles are standard, so it would be good for you to learn. For work purposes.”

She gave him a funny look and sat back a little in her seat, her hand still resting on the door handle like it was an escape hatch.

“My goal is to become a lawyer, Cam. Not a security guard.”

“I was thinking you’d be better suited as a securityoperative,” he said, grinning. “That’s where the real fun is.”

“Ha! I’d be horrible. And like I said, I have other goals in mind.”

“Bristol, have you ever considered that sometimes our goals change as we figure out God’s plan for our lives?”

The words hung heavy in the small space between them, and it was all Cameron could do to keep his eyes trained on hers rather than on his feet.

“I could ask you the same question,” she said after a moment, her tone impossible to read.

Ouch.

They sat there like that for several long seconds. The awkwardness was almost unbearable, but at least she hadn’t bolted.

Memories of bygone years filled Cameron’s mind.

He could picture so many sunny days just like this, driving around Silver Grove in Gabe’s temperamental old pickup, Bristol’s hand clasped in his until he needed to change gears. Despite the obstacles, he couldn’t help but to wonder if the possibility existed that they could be that way again.

At last, she let out a breath and placed her hand on the shifter, fiddling with the worn plastic.

“I guess it would be kind of fun to learn,” she said. “Besides, Jaclyn is going to have a fresh task list for me as soon as she gets back from her meeting, and I’m not exactly in a hurry to start on it.”

“Attagirl,” Cameron said, keeping his own fingers gripped safely against the arm rest, where there was no chance of accidentally brushing against hers before she was ready.

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