Page 59 of Hopeless Romantic
“I bet you spent a lot of time there with the cheerleading team, growing up?” she teased.
“Not as much as you’d think,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. “I was more into the swim team. How about you? Let me guess—you were into college guys in high school.”
“No. I was pretty shy growing up and could barely talk to guys my own age,” she admitted. “More animal friends than people.”
It hadn’t helped that her mom was long gone by then, so Beckett came home after school to help out with Thomas. She never went to a school dance, let alone on a date that ended at Make-Out Point.
“What kind of idiots did you go to high school with? I’d have sweet-talked you up here first day of freshman year.”
“I grew up outside Trenton, New Jersey. So that would have been quite the commute for a teen. Plus, when I was a freshman, you would’ve been”—she did some quick calculations—“nineteen or twenty. Off at college, and you already know how I felt about college guys.”
“I’d kick any twenty-year-old ass who came sniffing near Paisley,” he said, and she wondered, not for the first time, how being responsible for a teen girl affected his outlook on dating. He flirted with anyone who had boobs, but she had a hard time placing the last woman he’d dated. “And no, Michelle got pregnant my sophomore year of college, so I would have already been back in Rome.”
Beckett thought about twenty-year-old Levi, off at college on a sailing scholarship, the parties, the girls, every night a new fun adventure to be had. His whole life ahead of him, then deciding to walk away from that freedom to help his sister. There weren’t many men who’d do what he’d done. Instead of feeling bitter or robbed, he’d embraced being an uncle and given it his all.
“You got quiet,” he said, giving her knee a squeeze.
“I was thinking about how lucky Paisley is to have you for an uncle,” she said quietly. “And that I’m pretty lucky you don’t scare easy. Think of all the fun I’d have missed out on.”
“The fun’s just getting started,” he said. “Now, put my coat back on, and don’t get out until I come around and get your door.”
“But you’ll get cold.”
“No self-respecting Rhode Island man leaves the house to pick up a beautiful woman without bringing a spare.” With no warning, he lifted her hand to his warm, full lips and blew on it before placing it back in her lap. Then he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her. “There are gloves in the pockets.”
Beckett was glad it was dark in the cab, because she was at least a dozen different shades of charmed.
He reached behind his seat and came up with another coat and a cloth bag, then opened the door and climbed out. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark after the overhead light had come on, but she was able to make out his shadow in the moonlight as he walked around the back of the truck.
And what an impressive shadow he possessed.
Tall, broad shoulders, big hands, and an even bigger chest—so solid and stable, a woman could easily lean on it. Those words pretty much summed up his character, as well. There was nothing about Levi that scared her—except her feelings for him.
Her door opened. “Careful, it’s rocky out here.”
He offered his hand to help her out of the truck. But when she was safely on the ground, he didn’t seem in a rush to let go. Which was fine with her, since she liked the feel of his skin against hers.
The cold air stung her nose and turned her breath to ice, but the rest of her was toasty from his body heat, which still clung to the coat. He walked her to the back of the truck, then lifted her onto the tailgate, which was padded with that subzero sleeping bag he’d mentioned.
“Put on the gloves while I bundle you up.”
She’d only put the first glove on when he grabbed a puffy blanket and wrapped it around her like a burrito, then hopped up next to her. Even through the triple layer of blanket, she could feel his thigh pressed against her, his shoulder brushing hers as he dug through the cloth bag.
When it became clear he wasn’t finding what he wanted, she reached over and slid his flashlight from his front pocket. He hesitated for a moment, long enough for her to know he was acknowledging her handiwork, then went back to the rustling.
She clicked on his handy-dandy flashlight and aimed it at the bag, which she could now see contained a Thanksgiving-load of Tupperware.
“What’s that?” She reached into the bag, and he closed it around her hand.
“Be patient,” he said, and only when she removed her hand did he go back to work. He pulled out a few containers, opening each one and sticking in a plastic fork, then handed her a bottle.
“You brought wine? How about a wine opener?”
He flipped over the flashlight. The bottom was a wine opener. “Handy. You know, you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who prepares moonlight picnics.”
“You need to get to know me better,” he said, then handed her one of the containers. The delicious scent of fresh herbs and tomatoes greeted her. She put it to her nose and sniffed.
“Oh my god,” she moaned. “What is this?”
