Page 22 of Lovewell Lane

“What?”

“Michael. He’s gay. Not into women. Plays for the other team.”

“He told you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” I said.

“Oh.” The edge to his tone dropped. “Well, you shouldn’t be out so late alone in the first place. Especially if no one knows where you are.”

“Agree to disagree,” I muttered. Then I remembered I woke him up in cold weather to come pick up me, the bane of his existence. “I really appreciate you doing this, though.”

He made a noncommittal sound. Something inside me died. I hated relying on other people. The idea of making someone do something nice for me made my skin crawl. Owing someone was one of my biggest insecurities.

“How do I make it up to you?” I asked. “There must be something.”

He put on his brights as we pulled onto the lonely streets of Honeyfield. “Not necessary.”

“What if I work for your store? Or do some farm work, surely there are a lot of chores. Anything, you name it.”

“This is really bothering you,” he commented.

“Yes, it would bring me great joy to pay back my debts.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I sobered up between the freezing cold air and glass of ice water while I waited for you.”

He leaned back to grab something from the backseat of his truck. “Here.” He tossed a fleece jacket in my lap. I slid it on gratefully. My denim jacket did nothing against the cold.

“Tessa has a bake sale at her school,” he said noncommittally.

“Oh?” I perked up. “I can definitely handle that. How much do we need?”

“Just one item,” Derek answered while side-eyeing me. An entire assortment of baked goods, coming right up.

“I’ll take care of it. Does she like baking? I can teach her how to bake too.”

He sighed loudly. “She loves cooking. I’m sure she would like that.” A pause. “I’ll be there to supervise though.” He shot me another look as if he was expecting me to change my mind.

Little did he know, the idea of making him warm up to me sounded like my idea of a good time. And baking together was the perfect opportunity to win him over. I’d make this grumpy asshole like me whether he wanted to or not.

“The more the merrier.”

8

Derek

“What’s your favorite color?” Margo asked.

“You’re sure you’re not drunk?”

“Positive.”

“Blue.”

“Do you hate my guts?”

I looked at her in the passenger seat of my Chevy. The lights on my dash and the reflection of my high beams on the road illuminated her face. She was absolutely breathtaking. Something about seeing her practically swimming in my oversized work jacket made her even more endearing. Her pink glossy lips caught my eye before I tore my gaze away to look at the road again.

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