Page 22 of Truck Me
He may be a grumpy asshole, but maybe he’s a grumpy asshole who appreciates fresh baked goods.
* * *
Once I have Dad settled in the living room watching TV, I bundle up and make my way to Garret’s house. The temperatures have dropped even more, and it’s barely above zero out. With the wind chill, it probably feels more like negative five.
The sun is shining brightly—giving us a rare sunny winter day instead of the gray overcast we’re usually stuck with—but it’s not enough to combat the frigid temperatures. We’re in the heart of winter now.
When I exit the trail that cuts through the woods, I notice there’s a light on in Garret’s garage and the bay door is open. I head there instead of to his house.
I don’t make it halfway up his driveway before Bullet greets me.
“Hey, girl.” I lean down and pet her. She bounces on her feet in excitement. “You’re such a good girl. Is your master here?”
She lets out a low ruff and runs back up the driveway, spinning around and running back to me just before she reaches the open door.
“Bullet. Get in here.” Garret’s rough voice shouts from inside the garage, but I don’t see him.
Bullet slows when she reaches me, does a quick circle around me, then walks the rest of the way to the garage by my side.
“Is he in a bad mood?” I whisper to Bullet like she can understand me.
She gives me another low ruff, making me chuckle. I don’t care what anyone says. She understood me and that was a clear yes in response.
“Hello!” I call out when I reach the open door. A waft of heat washes over me as soon as I cross the threshold.
Garret steps out from behind my car and frowns. “What are you doing here?”
I give him my biggest smile and his frown deepens. “I brought you some cookies.”
“Why?” he grumbles. Then his eyes rake down my body and settle on my feet. He stares at them for far too long. I look down at my leather boots. They’re the only flat bottom shoes I own. Not the best winter boots for the country, but they’re semi-practical.
He makes a grunting sound, and my eyes snap back to his. Oh, right. He asked me a question.
“For helping me. Just wanted to say thank you.”
“Then why not just say thank you?” He furrows his brow, and the deep timbre of his voice sends a shiver from my head to my toes. He stares at me with so much intensity, I involuntarily take a step back.
“Because.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Because cookies are a nice gesture. They say thank you better than simple words.”
I don’t know how it’s possible, but the man’s furrowed brow deepens even more. “I don’t understand.”
I shrug. “I thought you might like them. And since you helped me out, I decided to repay you with cookies. That’s not a crime, is it?”
“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest and his expressive eyes glare at me. “You can’t stand it when someone doesn’t like you, can you?”
I scoff. “I couldn’t care less. Plenty of people don’t like me.”
He takes a step toward me. First one. Then another. His movements remind me of a predator slowly approaching its prey so as not to scare it away. I’m not scared, but I want to flee all the same. Mostly because of the way my insides are burning with desire.
Why in the hell does he have this effect on me?
He doesn’t stop until he’s eliminated most of the distance between us. Something resembling a smirk lifts his lips. “Maybe, maybe not. But around here you’re used to being the center of attention, the most popular girl in school, and everyone’s favorite homecoming queen.”
His words ignite something deep inside me, and it’s not lust. It’s anger. I shove the container of cookies at him, and it hits him in the chest.
“We’re not in high school anymore. Just take the damn cookies, Garret!” I say a little too loudly.
He doesn’t take them. He doesn’t react at all to my outburst. Instead, his damn chocolate-brown eyes stare down at me as he pops the lid and pulls out a cookie.