No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

I don’t know how to convince her I don’t mind.

Feels like the best way is to show her.

Somehow, I’m hoping that maybe—just maybe—this bizarre escapade will give her the closure she needs to let go of all the bruises her father left behind.

I want to see her smile once, dammit.

I want to see those eyes ignite like a winter sunset when the stars are just coming out and the sky’s colors kiss, leaving blue and violet streaks.

Hell, I want to come to the brink of kissing her pretty little face off—even if I’m man enough to know I shouldn’t.

She’s too beautiful right now, even when she’s sad, with the soft morning light falling through the windows and spilling over her like gold.

It brings out the cherry highlights in her cinnamon hair.

Her pale skin glows, the edges painted in soft shimmers that show just how smooth she is, but not flawless.

Nah, see, a face like hers isn’t made to be flawless. Her imperfections give her soul.

The tiny little nick of a scar right above her eyebrow and another near the corner of her mouth just draw the fineness of her other features into stark relief.

I feel like I’m admiring a painting of a beautiful girl captured in heartbreak valley.

I want to see her alive, smiling, and radiant with relief.

Getting sentimental already?

Keep your eyes on the road, mister, a voice growls in the back of my head.

I make myself quit watching her from the corner of my eye and focus on the tricky turns as the narrow roadway spirals through the rising slopes. At least out here it’s already been cleared for logging trails, making room for a flatbed hauling a crane.

The slopes are graded for safety and give me an easier time than I’d expected with the pathway penetrating deeper into rich evergreen forest.

I’ve got my window down. The air smells gorgeous: crisp with pine and distant unmelted snow, warmed by the sun.

Underneath it all, there’s that scent of Miss Fliss and her constant fragrance of warm homey coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity says, breaking the silence that’s held since we loaded up my camping supplies, dropped Eli off, and headed out before many folks would be up to stare at a monster crane floating down Main Street.

I’ve been expecting this, though it’s so abrupt it catches me off guard.

I glance at her again, but she’s not looking at me, staring out the window—until I catch her gaze in the reflective glass, the shimmer of morning turning the window into a mirror.

That’s when it hits me.

She hasn’t been looking out at the wilderness the whole time.

She’s been looking at my reflection in the truck’s window.

Fuck.

I feel like I’m ten years younger, the way my head spins with all these questions about why, and about why I want her to be staring—but the rational adult’s still in charge.

And rational adult me feels more concerned with that troubled look on her face that says she’s two seconds away from bolting out of a moving vehicle like we’re in the middle of some old Jean-Claude Van Damme remake.

“What’re you apologizing for?” I ask carefully.

“Everything. Nothing. I...” She lifts her hands, then drops them into her lap hard enough to make her palms smack her thighs. “I only meant to ask you for advice. This was never supposed to happen, and now here you are, driving up into the mountains with me, chasing ghosts.”

I shrug, idly thumping my thumb against the steering wheel.

“Little late to stop now. Already got the crane loaded and we’re almost there. Not to mention I don’t like taking no for an answer.” I flash her a wink.

Honestly, I was surprised by how easily she’d given in at the time, considering what a prideful little fox she is.

But I figure the other day, she’d been in shock, too overwhelmed by me springing this camping idea on her when she was trying to play coy with her un-hypotheticals.

Shock’s worn off now.

I should probably brace myself for an argument, a panicked demand to turn this truck right back around on this narrow two-lane mountain road and let her do whatever fool thing she’s fixing to do. Alone.

Felicity twists to glance over her shoulder, looking through the window in the back of the truck. Most of the view’s taken up by the deep yellow and black stripes of the crane.

She squints at it with her mouth knotted up before sighing.

“I know, Alaska, I just—I don’t know. Not really.” With a frustrated sound, she twists to face forward again. “People who get close to me usually end up regretting it. People who do me favors can lose more than they ever meant to give. I’m the black cat of Heart’s Edge. And one guy...” Her mouth trembles, and she flashes me a heavy-eyed look full of enough guilt to sink a tanker. “One guy lost his life.”