That Thing You Do (Whispering Bay Romance 1)

She pressed her lips into a tight line.

Rusty took off his cap and scratched the top of his head. “There’s the problem.”

“All right, well, I can take care of that when I get back to Tampa.”

Rusty went silent. Tom had a bad feeling he knew exactly where this was going. Allie must have, too, because she laughed again, sounding even more nervous than before. “You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”

“No, no, not gonna arrest you. But I can’t let you drive, Allie.”

“Oh, come on! This is ridiculous. You know me, Rusty. I’m not some criminal.”

“Sure, sure, of course not. But I can’t bend the rules just because you’re the boss’s little sister. I’m real sorry, Allie.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s not your fault, Rusty.” She glanced at the VW bug parked in the center of the parking lot. “How am I supposed to move my car if I can’t drive?”

“Golly, Allie, I sure would like to help you with that, but with Zeke gone, I’m in charge and I’m the only patrol car on this side of town tonight. Can’t let down the citizens of Whispering Bay. They’re all counting on me.”

“You can move your car in the morning,” Tom said.

Rusty nodded his head in agreement. “Good plan.” Then he frowned, like he just realized the other part of Allie’s predicament. “You’re staying at Zeke’s tonight, right? I bet Tom wouldn’t mind giving you a ride.”

“I can walk,” she blurted, looking horrified by Rusty’s suggestion.

“I’m afraid

I can’t let you do that,” Tom said. Without asking her permission, he went to her car and pulled the suitcase from the backseat. “This all you got?”

The struggle on her face was clear. Walk two miles in the middle of the night or get a ride with him. She might not like him but she wasn’t dumb. Without saying another word, Allie Grant locked up her car then climbed into the front seat of his pick-up truck.

The horror of her current situation was not lost on her. For the first time in twelve years, Allie was completely alone (as clichéd as it sounded) with The One Who Got Away. Or rather, The One Who Ran Away, tossing pieces of her broken heart along the highway.

Okay, so maybe that was a tad bit dramatic.

She watched Tom Donalan out of the corner of her eye. His big hands gripped the steering wheel—strong, and masculine, and…lovely. It was an odd trio of words to describe a man, but there it was. Tom was gorgeous. Always had been. And probably always would be, no matter how much Ben and Jerry’s she overdosed on.

Allie forced her attention to the road in front of them. She had no business thinking about his hands. Or any other part of him. He was a Class A jerk. Best not to forget that.

She settled back in the truck’s leather seat and tried to relax. Ten minutes. If she could spend eight hours on her feet wiping down tables and pretending she loved dishes with the name of Tofu Surprise, she could certainly do ten minutes in a car with Tom Donalan.

Relax. Concentrate. On anything but him.

She discreetly took in her surroundings. The inside of the truck was clean, not fancy or new, but well kept. No empty McDonald’s wrappers or beer cans strewn on the floor. A faint hint of him lingered in the air. Sniffing things out had always been a talent of hers. Some people remembered faces. Allie remembered smells. Eau de Tom Donalan was a mixture of ocean air, soap, and aftershave. Clean and sexy, not too overpowering. In other words, just right.

Growing up, Zeke had grudgingly nicknamed her The Nose. She’d been able to smell Buela’s picadillo halfway down the block. But a more practical trick had been her ability to sniff out any lingering traces of pot (no matter how much Zeke had tried to mask it). Sibling blackmail had helped finance the ten-speed bicycle she’d used for beach transportation the summer before middle school.

Had she imagined the lemon smell back at the senior center? She didn’t think so. But where had it come from?

Tom glanced at her. “So, how are you?”

“Well, let’s see. My license is suspended and some twit won’t let me spend a few hours in an abandoned building so I can make a living. But other than that, just peachy.”

He shifted in his seat. “No, I mean, how have you been?”

“You mean, as in the past twelve years?”

He nodded.

“I’ve been great, Donalan. Really. I mean, other than the night you took a blowtorch to my heart, I’ve been just great. Of course, there was that year I spent in rehab after taking all those pills. But I hardly ever relapse anymore.”