Page 45 of Where the Blacktop Ends

“Is Minnie coming back tonight?”

His brows knit together, and he turns slowly to face me. “No.”

I nod, but he offers no further explanation. The silence stretches again, awkward and heavy.

I wonder why he didn’t have her dropped off here.

“So… were you with her tonight for optics?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Troy turns his head slightly, studying me. But he says nothing, his expression infuriatingly unreadable.

I glance at the old grandfather clock in the corner—it’s nearly midnight now. Our conversation, while civil and filled with moments of vulnerability, feels stilted, like we’ve both beenholding back and maybe that’s because we don’t quite trust each other to be completely vulnerable.

“Do you even like working in politics?” I blurt out.

His stare sharpens, a warning in his eyes.

I sigh, reaching for one of the water bottles he brought along with the frozen peas. Instead of pressing him with more intrusive questions, I decide to shift the conversation—offering him a piece of my own vulnerability instead.

“I got into nannying during college. I was originally a political science major. Government was something I loved learning about in high school and I figured I’d roll it into a career until my parents begged me to take over their ranch. But I hated it—the degree, the expectations, the people. All of it. One day, I saw an ad for a weekend nanny position. Took it on a whim and ended up loving it. So, I dropped out of school. Never finished my degree and I’ve never looked back.”

“That’s… impulsive.”

A smile tugs at my lips as I think back on those days. How lost I’d been until I’d found nannying and the joy and freedom that it brought me. “Maybe. But I was going through a tough time, and I needed the change. I’d been feeling unhappy for a while, the change to nannying—it saved me. Evie and Ember saved me.”

I trail off, letting the silence settle in again.

“I got into politics because I care about people, but mostly, for my family. To save them.”

My brows lift. “To save—”

But the shrill ring of my phone cuts through my question. I glance down, James’s name flashes across the screen like a warning. Troy sees it too—his jaw tightening, eyes darkening.

“I should… I should take this,” I stammer, pulling my legs away from his lap and knocking the bag of peas to the floor in the process. I bend to pick it up but so does he. Our fingers brush and sparks zip up my arm like a shock and our gazes connect. His face is so close, pupils dark and blown out. I can smell the mint on his breath, the scent of his manly cologne wrapping around me in a private bubble.

This isnota good idea.

I’m still a little tipsy, though sobering up fast, but Troy is my boss, he’s older, and I have to live with him while taking care of his grandson for the foreseeable future. But there’s also no denying how handsome he is, how attractive I am to his broodiness and how I know so little about him—and yet, I want to know more.

So much more.

“I’ve got it,” he says, taking the bag from my hands and standing, offering his other hand to help me up.

When I stand, I realize how tall he is now without my heels on. Broad shoulders, strong jawline, his masculine stance, legs spread wide and commanding like he’s making space for what I know is between them—everything about him pulls me in.

I get the sudden urge to run my fingers through his hair, mess it up and bite down on his bottom lip. I wonder if he’d like that. And before I can stop myself, I’m rising onto my toes, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck, and pressing my lips against his mouth as I whisper, “Thank you.”

What I thought would feel magical is like kissing a statue. He’s frozen, his lips not moving, and the realization of what I’m doing suddenly hits me like a truck.

I jerk back, eyes wide, my fingers brushing against my lips where ours were just connected. “Oh my God. I—I’m so sorry.”

I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks, my face burning with embarrassment. The night cloaks us, but I know he can see it too. Worse, the look in his eyes feels dangerously close to pity.

Grabbing my shoes, I mutter, “I… I’ll just go. Sorry, the alcohol…” I force out a laugh, hoping it sounds casual, as if I’m just some silly, drunk girl who doesn’t know any better. “Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”

He stands there, still frozen, and I think I catch the faintest nod.

“Cool!” I chirp, my voice far too bright as I practically bolt up the stairs, wobbling the entire way on my sore ankle. My heart’s pounding, blood rushing loudly in my ears as I run to get away. I jerk into my room and slam the door behind me, collapsing against it.

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