Page 36 of Strung Along
“I don’t want you to.”
I laugh through a half-smile. “Consider it a real apology.”
“You already apologized,” she notes, still so damn stubborn.
It’s no wonder we butt heads so much. We share one of the most polarizing traits.
I don’t reply to her until the guy has finished scanning my items and tells me the new total. The slap of my card over the machine hardly sounds before she’s swatting at my hand.
Laughing, I turn my hand and capture hers, pulling it away from the card machine. Her palm is soft and warm in my grip, her fingers so much smaller than mine. They’re delicate. I’d bet she’s appalled at the state of my hands. The scars and calluses must feel so off-putting.
Remembering myself, I drop my hold and thank the cashier before moving past Anna and dropping my things into her packed bag.
“Are you goin’ back to work now?” I ask her as we leave, the bag in my left hand.
The wind howls when the automatic doors slide open, and we step outside. She shivers, the movement causing our arms to brush and the thin material of her jacket to become even more bothersome to me. When I snag the mittens out of her pocket and hand them to her, she doesn’t fight me on taking them and slipping them on.
“Yeah. I walked, which probably wasn’t the best choice, but I don’t like driving on these roads yet.”
Are her cheeks pink from the cold or embarrassment?
“What part of BC are you from?”
“Vancouver.”
I nod, spying my truck in the parking lot. Something claws at my subconscious, a plea to consider whether I’m really going to let this woman walk back to the salon in this cold fucking weather. Especially in that goddamn jacket.
“This is definitely new for you, then. Have you driven much around here yet?”
She diverts her stare at the question. “Not once, actually. The idea of the car sliding out of control terrifies me.”
We stop walking when we reach the start of the parking lot, and I release a long breath. The angel on my shoulder grins proudly. Fuck me, I’m really about to do this.
“I’ll drive you,” I huff.
She whips her head in my direction, eyes full of curiosity. “To the salon?”
A deep breath. “The salon. Home later. To work tomorrow. Just tell me when.”
“You’re offering to be my chauffeur?” It sounds even more ridiculous coming from her mouth.
“Don’t make me take the offer back.”
“Is this you still apologizing?”
“My grandmother would kick my ass if I let you continue to walk in this weather. It’s only goin’ to get worse. This is nothin’ compared to what will come in January.”
Playing it off doesn’t help make me feel any less of a loser. I don’t have the time to be driving her around town. I’m already pushing the limits stepping out for lunch every day. It’ll be a miracle if I can sneak off the ranch in the morning when everyone’s up and rushing around.
“You’re sure about this?” she asks, voice suddenly sounding shy. The tone is out of place enough that I can’t help but focus on it. “I work every Monday to Friday from nine to five.”
I force myself to nod. “That’s fine.”
“If you’re sure . . . then that would be really nice. Thank you.”
The appreciation shining in her eyes as she stares up at me is almost too much. The brown is even softer now than before, warm like melted chocolate. My chest is twisted up, and before I notice what’s happening, I’m grinning at her.
Grinning like I haven’t just complicated my life with a woman who three days ago made me want to shout into a pillow.