Page 4 of Hayrides with Hank
3
MADDIE
The man standing at the door to my RV was straight out of a mid-1900s movie. He held flowers in one hand and stood, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other.
I was pretty sure he couldn’t tell that I was watching him on my phone through the motion-activated camera I’d positioned above my door. It had been capturing him from the second he stepped out of his gigantic truck.
I smiled to myself as I closed the video, grabbed my cross-body purse, and headed toward the door.
It was my first date in a couple of years, but it might as well have been my first date ever. I’d never had this much of a crush on a guy. Did it count as a crush if we’d just met? All I knew was that when we looked at each other, sparks flew between us. I finally got the meaning of the term, “the air seemed electrified.”
I opened the door, and it slammed into me again—that attraction. It almost buckled my knees.
Yeah, this was definitely like nothing I’d ever experienced.
“Hi,” he said, and that slow smile of his made my heart skip. He held out the flowers—wildflowers that looked like he’d picked them himself. “These are for you.”
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” I took them, our fingers brushing, and felt that electric spark again. “Let me just put these in water.”
“Actually,” he said as I turned toward my tiny kitchen, “I had a change of plans. If you’re up for it.”
I looked back at him, intrigued. “Oh?”
“Instead of the diner, I thought you might like to see the best view in Maple Ridge. I brought dinner to us.” He gestured toward his truck, where I could see an insulated bag and a cooler in the bed. “That is, if you trust me enough to let me take you up to Lookout Rock.”
The smart part of my brain—the part that had kept me safe traveling alone for over a year—whispered that going to an isolated location with a man I’d just met wasn’t the wisest choice. But the rest of me—the part that had been drawn to him from the moment I saw him emerge from those woods—didn’t hesitate.
“I’d love to.”
Twenty minutes later, we were parked near Lookout Rock, and I understood why he’d wanted to bring me here. The view was breathtaking—rolling mountains painted in autumn colors, the town of Maple Ridge nestled in the valley below, and Osprey Lake gleaming like a mirror in the fading light.
“Wow,” I breathed, stepping out of his truck. “This is incredible.”
“Wait until you see the sunset.” He was already unloading the cooler and insulated bag. “I hope you’re hungry. I have fried chicken, mac and cheese, coleslaw, and cornbread.”
“You did all that for me?” I asked, touched by the thoughtfulness. “I assumed you’d just take me to a restaurant.”
“Figured you’d prefer dining with a view.” He pulled out a blanket and spread it on a flat section of rock. “And I brought sparkling wine for you, beer for me.”
We settled on the blanket, and he opened containers of food that smelled amazing. The fried chicken was perfectly crispy, the sides were comfort food at its finest, and the sparkling wine was crisp and cold.
“So tell me,” he said as we ate, “what’s it like living on the road? Do you ever get lonely?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But there’s something addictive about the freedom. Waking up somewhere new, meeting different people, seeing the country.” I took a sip of wine. “What about you? You said you came back after leaving the military. Ever regret it?”
“Never.” His certainty surprised me. “I saw enough of the world to know this is where I belong. These mountains, this community—Maple Ridge is home in a way nowhere else could be.”
“That’s beautiful,” I said softly. “I can’t imagine feeling that rooted to a place.”
“Can’t you?” He looked at me intently. “You chose to come back to Maple Ridge this year. Out of all the festivals you could have done.”
I paused, my wineglass halfway to my lips. “Come back? How did you know this wasn’t my first time here?”
Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of vulnerability that made my heart skip. He was quiet for a long moment, looking out over the valley below.
“Because I saw you last year,” he finally said. “At the festival. You were struggling with your booth setup, looked like you were about to cry when that windstorm hit.” He met my eyes. “I wanted to help, but…”
“But what?”
