Page 22 of The Rookie
Graham shakes his head, scratching at the stubble on his face. “I’ve got to start the fermentation process over. Sorry.”
With that, he turns and heads toward the barn, and I’m right back where I started. Hopeless.
My stomach churns, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears. What am I even doing here? I can’t start a fire, I can’t drive a stick shift, and apparently, I can’t be one-on-one with my client without wanting to kiss him.
Maybe I’d be better off calling a cab to take me back to the airport. Except I don’t even have cell service to look up the number of a cab company.
Freaking great.
Defeated, I leap from the truck and slam the door closed, giving the front tire a frustrated kick.
I’m not going to cry, damn it. Not now. Not over this. I’ve faced down much worse and come out all right.
“Are you okay?”
I turn on the heels of my boots, bracing myself to deal with grumpy Graham again. Instead, I find myself looking into the same soft blue eyes that nearly hypnotized me last night.
“Morning, Logan,” I manage to say, trying not to notice how well he’s filling out that flannel jacket. “Just, uh, trying to make a trip to town. Your mom didn’t mention that the truck is a manual.”
“Ah.” He gazes at me thoughtfully.
It’s quiet between us for a second, and I wonder if he’s feeling as weird about last night as I am. Or maybe I’m just reading into signs that aren’t even there. I push at the gravel at my feet with the side of my boot, trying to fill the silence with some kind of sound. But then he clears his throat, pulling my attention back to him.
“I could teach you, if you want. Or I could just give you a ride to town.”
“I think I’m a little too frustrated to make a very good student right now.”
His laugh is a low rumble in his chest that’s sexier than I’d like to admit. “Understood. Let me tell Austen I’m taking off for a while. Be right back.”
As he runs off into the house, I climb into the passenger seat, already feeling a sense of relief.
Moments later, Logan is sitting behind the wheel, working the gear shift like it’s second nature. To my surprise, he leaves the radio station where I had it, playing old-school country songs. I thought he might be more of an angsty grunge type of guy, but I guess I still have a lot to learn about Logan Tate.
We spend the drive mostly in silence, apart from Logan occasionally pointing out an old mining town or a particularly famous canyon on our route. For someone who hasn’t lived here for years, he sure does know a lot about this place. And it’s a gorgeous drive so I’m easily entertained. Towering pine trees and rivers carved into canyons. I’ve never seen such beauty.
By the time we pull into the parking lot of a small general store, I’m almost wishing the drive were longer. I like having Logan as my tour guide, and I’m already weirdly excited for the drive back.
Inside, we each grab a shopping basket, and I make my way through the aisles, grabbing all the things I forgot to pack. Heavier wool socks, some feminine products, and a bag of watermelon-flavored gummies to snack on in the car.
Logan follows close behind me, grabbing a bottle of mouthwash and a six-pack of beer, two things that directly cancel each other out, in my opinion. When we pass a rack of leather boots, he slows to a halt, running his fingers along the shearling fleece lining.
“What’s your size?”
“Seven and a half, why?”
He scans the labels, then pulls out a box, tucking it beneath his arm. “Because I’m buying you these.”
My mouth forms a tight frown. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” He glances pointedly at my high-heeled black leather ankle boots, which are sporting a few more scuffs than they had when my plane first touched down. “Total honesty? Your boots suck. You’re going to trip and fall if you’re still wearing those when the snow really starts. You need these.”
“Then I’ll buy them myself.”
“No way. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. This is the least I can do after you came all this way to help me.”
A hollow feeling forms in my chest as my gaze drops to the black-and-white tile floor. “I feel like helping you is the last thing I’ve done.”
Although I’m avoiding his gaze, I can hear the confusion in Logan’s voice. “What are you talking about?”
