Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“What are you doing here?” I ask, not quite believing my eyes.

“I told you to cancel your plans.” He stops the car next to me, shutting off the radio. “Considering you had no plans, I figured I was safe to pop by anytime.”

My heart leaps in my chest. I didn’t plan on seeing him tonight but now that he’s here, I love that he is. I can’t let him know that though. At least not readily.

“I did have plans,” I tell him.

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “You had plans. But you cancelled them, right?”

“No.”

He doesn’t flinch. “All right. Well, cancel them now so we can get on with it.”

I start walking down the sidewalk. His car rolls alongside me.

“You look beautiful,” he offers.

“Will you stop the manners thing?” I laugh.

“I didn’t use it that time. You’re supposed to follow a compliment with another line. This time, I spoke from the heart which is in the manners book, but not a method I’ve tried until now. Like it?”

“You’re impossible.”

Stopping at the base of the path leading to my front door, I feel my confidence wobble. I’m not sure what to do now that he’s here. Surely him being here means something. But when you’re trying not to read too much into it, you lose perspective.

Before I can think about it too much, Lance directs the conversation for me.

“Go grab a book and come on. That’s all you’ll need,” he says. The car goes in park. “Maybe a jacket if you get cold easily.”

“I haven’t even eaten yet.” It’s a weak argument, but at least it’s not me giving in right away.

“Bring it with you then.”

“Fine,” I say, heading up the walkway. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Don’t forget to cancel those plans!”

I flip him the bird as I unlock the door. It takes a couple of minutes to spritz myself with some perfume, grab my sunglasses and a jacket, and to swipe the book I’ve been reading off my nightstand. It might only be two or three minutes, but it’s long enough for logic to kick in.

This is not going to help anything. There’s no way we can keep our hands off each other and each touch frays my judgment.

Pulling open the curtains just enough to see him in the driveway, I notice he’s out of the car playing with the neighbor’s puppy. He throws a stick and the little black ball of fur goes after it, topples head-over-paws, and then races back for a scratch behind the ears.

Damn it.

I think back to what Whitney said. That maybe people change. Could Lance change? Could he want to be the type of guy who settles down to raise a family? Could I change? Could I just go with the flow and see what happens?

He tosses the stick again for the puppy now ripping across the lawn. If I don’t go, if I play it safe, I won’t spend time with him again. I’ll stay inside and maybe bake something or open a book or clean the bathroom. But if I take a chance, I get to feel this little zip of excitement. Feel like a person who has something to wake up for tomorrow. I get to smile again.

I’m sliding into his car before I even realize I’ve left my dinner in the foyer. He wastes no time jumping in, switching on the engine, and backing out of the driveway.

The windows are down, the fresh air whipping through the car. I pull my hair up into a quick up-do to keep it from tangling. Lance watches me with rapt attention.

“Road,” I say with an elastic between my teeth. “Watch it.”

He laughs, nodding. “What did you get at Carlson’s?”

“A bacon, avocado, and tomato sandwich but I forgot it at home.”

“Excited much?” he grins.

Jabbing him with my elbow, I get my hair twisted and secured. “What do you get from there?”

“Roast beef, usually. They have a really good pesto wrap thing that I only order when no one is around.”

“Why?” I giggle.

“Because what man orders a fucking wrap?”

“You, apparently.”

“And if you ever tell anyone, that’ll be it for you.”

“Gonna kill me?” I tease.

“No. Withhold the dick.”

“Oh, gee. Please. Not that,” I fake cry. He glares, making me laugh.

The car takes a quick left and into the parking lot of Goodman’s.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

“We need drinks and they have the best ice.”

“Truth. I found the pebble ice here my first day in town,” I say, getting out of the car and closing the door. “Their Coke is good too.”

“It’s a fountain machine. They’re all the same.”

“They are not all the same. Some machines are better than others.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so,” I tell him as the automatic doors slide open.

Goodman’s is a typical Mid-West gas station filled with pre-packaged donuts and the scent of too-strong coffee. Old men in bib overalls stand around the corner talking about crops and combines and farm animals.