Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

My hand enclosed in his palm, we walk along pots of daisies. His cologne is different tonight, more outdoorsy. It’s more rugged than usual, and while I love it, I wish he hadn’t worn it. It’s hard enough to keep my hands off him.

A button-up shirt is tucked neatly into a pair of jeans, a pair of work boots free of grease on his feet. I’ve only seen men like this on television or in magazines growing up, and I get it now. There’s something primal, something instinctive, about being with a man like him. Like he could catch a fish if I were hungry or fix my car if I were stranded. I’m no damsel in distress, my father ensured I’d always have the tools to take care of myself, but I can’t deny how much I adore the feeling of being . . . safe.

As he looks at me over his shoulder, a private smile sliding across his lips in the same way Dominic looks at Camilla or Lincoln looks at his wife, I realize it may be something else too. Something deeper, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.

A hostess is set up just outside the front door. She checks Walker’s name and leads us inside. Candles glow everywhere, the lighting soft and sweet as we get situated at a table along the wall in the back.

“This place is adorable,” I tell him, studying the fishing scene on the wall above us. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“This was my mom’s favorite place. I haven’t been here since she died. Didn’t even know it was still open until I called this morning.”

My heart melts at his words, that this is the place he’d choose to take me for dinner. A place that means something to him. “I’m honored.”

“I hope you like meat and potatoes.”

A waitress approaches, takes our drink orders and hands us menus. With a little too much attention placed on Walker for my liking, she struts away. He seems to notice my annoyance.

“She seems nice,” he says, burying his head in the menu.

“I might have to walk her to her car if she keeps it up.”

“Do you have a bat I don’t know about?” he snickers.

“So funny,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “What are you ordering? What’s good?”

“Well, being that I haven’t been here in forever, I’m going with the steak cooked medium and a baked potato with extra butter and no sour cream. You?”

“Probably the chicken breast. But if you like steak,” I say, setting my menu down, “one of these days I’ll take you to Hillary’s House. They marinate them with kiwi, I think. Like they rub it on there and lets it sit overnight. It’s delicious.”

“Is that around here?”

“No,” I blush, realizing what I’m doing—considering spending time with him in the future. “It’s in Savannah.”

He fidgets in his seat and I do the same in mine.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” I say. “I just . . .”

“Have you given more thought to your brother’s offer?”

“Yeah. I’m still not sure.” The struggle that sweeps through me every time I think I have the right answer to Graham’s offer pelts me again. There’s a wide swath of pride that makes me want to wear a sign that says he asked me, just so people know. Then there’s reality.

Going to work for him would feel like a failure despite the victory it also carries. It means I gave up on my dream. It means I need him to be successful. It means I’d be stuck there for the rest of my life because I could never quit. I could never fail or bail on Graham.

There would be no more random travel, no more doing anything that’s not on my schedule.

No more Walker.

“It’s a pretty great offer,” Walker notes, his words weighed carefully.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not totally sure it’s the right choice for me.”

Our drinks are placed in front of us, our orders sent to the kitchen. Walker pays no attention to anything but me.

“I took over my father’s company,” he says, stumbling through the sentence. “I remember a lot of people,” he says, clearing his throat, “thought it was stupid to want to do it for a living. But there’s a part of me that really likes being able to carry on that tradition.”

“I get it.” Those three words seem to mean something to him, his body actually softening as I watch. “I totally understand why you wanted to do that. Especially after he passed. It gives you a connection to your history. That’s important. Your kids may even want to work it someday.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“I can,” I laugh softly. “I can see a little Walker in bib overalls bopping around the lobby. It would be so damn adorable. But you’d need to keep little Walker away from little Peck. I can only imagine the shenanigans those two would get in.”