Page 38 of You Wish
One sniff, and his dick manned up—begging to cross the finish line.
This was going to be harder than he originally thought.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise. But I can tell you that the views are spectacular and the meal comes with the best cocoa this side of the Mason-Dixon line.”
He started the car and drove through town until they hit a windy and steep dirt road. He let off the clutch and showed her what his truck could really do.
She was grasping the oh-shit handle for dear life, but she was smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.
When they reached the top of the bluff, he stretched his arm out in her direction.
“Don’t even think about it. Just because you took me to make-out point doesn’t mean we’re going to make out,” she said primly.
He reached behind her and came up with a winter coat, hat, and gloves. “Presumptuous much? And who said I bring girls here to make out.”
“Come on. You’ve never brought a girl here?”
“Nope,” he said honestly. “This is where I used to come with my grandparents after a long day chopping down trees. Meemaw would pack up dinner and we’d sit on the tailgate and share a meal, then talk about the highs and lows of our day.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Not as sweet as this pecan pie and hot cocoa. Why don’t we get out there before it gets cold.”
He stepped out of the truck and raced to her side to open her door. But she beat him. Independent little thing. Although when they’d been dating, she used to let him be his chivalrous self. That ship had clearly sailed.
He released the tailgate and laid out a flannel blanket. She hopped up and he put another blanket over her lap.
He pulled a picnic basket from behind her and laid out the spread.
“Now for dinner. We have fried chicken, corn bread, baked beans, and sweet peas.”
“It looks delicious.” She breathed in the night’s air, causing her breasts to rise and fall. It took everything he had to look away. “Did Joy make all of this?”
He shot her an offended look. “No, darlin’, I made this all for you.”
“I forgot you can cook.”
“It seems you’ve forgotten a lot about me.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. He saw the sadness in her eyes—a sadness that matched the one in his chest. The same sadness he’d been trying to get rid of for nearly a decade. Without much success.
“What was the low point of the day?” he asked, handing her a piece of chicken.
“Losing the bet.”
A laugh erupted from his belly. “Some things never change.”
“I am a sportsman-like loser.”
“You are the worst loser in the world. Admit it, it’s killing you.”
She gave him the side-eye. “Fine. Yes. I hate to lose. Especially to a bragger.”
“I never bragged.”
“So revving your engine to be sure I saw you in the car wasn’t bragging?”
