Page 6 of The Marrying Kind
“So, there are mythical things on the list too? Is finding Bigfoot on that list?” he asked with a chuckle.
“You do know that Saint Nicholas was a real person, right?” I asked him.
His gaze darted around for a minute as if he were raking his brain for the information, then realization struck his face. “Oh shit. Duh. Wow. Hadn’t thought about Santa in a lot of years, I guess.”
We both chuckled then and ate a fry in unison.
“So, where do they keep Santa’s bones?” he asked.
“There are pieces in a lot of places. Italy, France, Germany, Virginia, Illinois.”
Austen’s smile was so big, a little dimple popped in his right cheek. I was half tempted to press my finger into it, but I managed to restrain myself.
“Santa bones in the Midwest, huh?” He laughed. “Your list is very educational.”
“It’s barrels of fun,” I said in a less-than-convincing tone, because at the very moment I dipped my last fry in my mustard, the weight of my situation came crashing down on me. My empty plate meant I was close to having to address the whole sleeping-in-my-car prospect.
Shit and damn.
If it weren’t for the delicious distraction that was Austen next to me, I might have broken down into a full-on panic attack. Instead, I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to this hot guy, and therefore my vanity required me to maintain some level of having my shit together.
CJ strode up at that very moment. “Can I get you anything else?”
I took a breath to steady myself. “Just the check, thanks.”
It was time for me to face the music. Maybe I could sleep at the airport. At least it had heat. Was the closest airport even open all night? The smaller ones around here might not be.
As I slid a few bills onto the little plastic tray, Austen studied me.
“What?” I finally asked him after an awkwardly long stare-down.
He was frowning at me. “Where are you going to stay?”
If I hadn’t just spent an hour having a pleasant conversation with him, that question might have creeped me out more.
I shrugged. “I’ll figure something out. I’m resourceful.”
My answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. He turned his whole body to face me. “I’m not going to let you be homeless, you’re welcome to stay at my place.”
The sound of shattering glass startled us both.
CJ dropped down with a rag to clean up the mess. “Shit, sorry,” she muttered.
I hadn’t even noticed her there.
My gaze returned to Austen, who was waiting patiently for my answer.
I tucked the hair behind my ear. “How do I know you’re not a psychopath or an ax murderer?” I asked, only half joking.
“Because I’m not?” he said, though he asked it like a question.
A smile broke out on my face. “That’s exactly what an ax murderer would say.”
When I poked a finger at his firm chest, his gaze dropped to watch the intrusion.
“CJ, come here a second.” He waved her over as she dumped the broken glass in a trash can behind the bar. “Can you vouch for me, that I’m not an ax murderer?”
CJ looked between us and folded her arms. “I can honestly say I’ve never heard of Austen murdering anything with an ax.” She stuck her tongue out at him and started to walk away.
