Page 23 of Truck Me
He takes a bite with an unimpressed look on his face as if he expects them to taste like shit.
Then the unthinkable happens.
His eyes roll back in his head and the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard rumbles up from deep in his chest. My legs wobble and a wetness builds between my legs unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Oh my God.” He groans. “What are these?”
“Um,” I clear my throat, and a smile lifts my lips. “Oatmeal toffee. They’re good, right?”
“Good?” He takes the container from me, grabs another cookie, and stuffs it in his mouth. “These are the best damn cookies I’ve ever eaten.” Then his eyes narrow and he points a finger at me. “Don’t you dare tell Grams I said that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I nudge his side, and a zing of energy shoots up my arm from the touch. I quickly pull my hand back. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
He holds my gaze, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s heat building in those deep brown eyes.
He clears his throat and turns around. “So, your car.”
I take a deep breath and press my hand to my belly. It’s doing little flips making me feel light and airy. “Yeah. My car. How bad is it?”
“You’re not going to like it.” He sets the container on the bench behind him, then grabs a stack of papers. “Your transmission is shot.”
I wrinkle my nose. “How much is that going to set me back?”
“Not sure yet. Several grand at least.”
I moan and cover my face with my hands. He puts his hand on my shoulder and that damn zing is back. When I look up at him, all I want to do is lean into him. Kiss his pink lips. Feel the roughness of his beard against the softness of my face.
For a second, I think he might want that too. Then Bullet barks and we jump apart.
He runs a hand over his beard and stares down at the papers he picked up. “I’ll make some calls. See what I can find out. I’ll do everything I can to keep the costs to a minimum.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” I take another step back and point over my shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it then.”
I spin around and practically run in the opposite direction.
“Charlotte!” He calls out before I reach the door. I stop and look over my shoulder. “Cookies are my favorite, and these are really good. Thank you.”
A genuine smile covers my face and my chest warms. “You’re welcome.”
He gives me a slight nod before he takes a bite of another cookie, and if I’m not mistaken, he was smiling while he did it.
Maybe there’s hope for Garret and me to be friends yet. Who knew all it would take to tame the beast were some oatmeal toffee cookies?
* * *
I park outside Mrs. Engle’s hair salon. When I read the sign, the urge to back out of here and go home is strong. All it says is hair salon, not unlike a barber pole with stripes as the only marker that the business is a barber shop.
I’ve fallen far and hard if this is my only job option.
I was a master stylist—second best to the owner—at Fringe for crying out loud. It’s the hottest, most highly sought after salon in all of Chicago, maybe even all the East Coast. I cut and styled Vince Vaughn and Harrison Ford’s hair, plus their wives. I even styled Oprah Winfrey a few times. That’s how freaking good I am at my job.
But that’s all over now. It’s either this, or I sit around my parents’ house bored to tears every day for the rest of my life.
Instead of leaving, I shut off the engine to my parents’ Buick and head inside to see about a job. I can’t imagine the demand for a master stylist is all that high in a village of three hundred people and its surrounding area, but it’s worth a shot.
When I step inside, I’m immediately greeted by a blanket of warmth. It’s a large open room with a crackling fireplace along one wall. I hadn’t expected that, but it’s a nice touch.
Opposite the door is a single station set up against a mirrored wall. There’s only one chair and bench, even though at least three or four would easily fit in the space. Just inside the door is a deep maroon couch with big white flowers all over it. The end tables and coffee table are a light oak and they’re all decorated with bowls of potpourri.