“Bye, Haley.”
“Bye.” I punch the red button with slightly more force than necessary.
I slip my phone into my purse and jump when a knock raps against my window.
“Geez,” I hiss, sitting back in my seat and clutching my chest. My blood pumper is going a good three times the normal recommended rate. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to calm the freak down.
The door pops open. The clean scent of the mountains mixed with Grayson’s body wash fills the car. It’s all I can do not to melt into a puddle on the floorboard.
He grabs the top of the car, effectively blocking me in. The muscles in his arms and the tops of his shoulders flex. They’re thick and hard and very much unlike the bloated muscles that my last boyfriend—term used loosely—got from doing massive amounts of curls at the gym.
“Hi,” I say, dropping my hand to the seat.
“Hey.”
I wait for more. Thanks for coming. Are you ready? Fuck you for doing this—something. Anything. But all I get is a hey.
Figures.
“You’re a man of many words,” I say under my breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
I grab my backpack. Grayson steps back so I can climb out of the car.
The mountains are glorious with their jagged shapes and towering size. I look up as I adjust the pack over my shoulders and wish I spent more time out here.
“My grandpa used to love coming up here,” I say, my tone somber. “He died when I was a little girl—ten, maybe. But before then, we used to come up here every Saturday and fool around.”
Grayson slings a backpack over his shoulder. “I used to come up here with my granddad too.”
“Did he ever take you to the little lake that’s …” I look around. “Maybe over there?” I nod to the area behind the ranger shack. “Maybe not, too. It’s been a while.”
He steps toward me, filling my nostrils with his scent. I try not to give it too much attention like I do in the bar. But it’s different out here. It’s stronger. More intentional. Sexier.
I try to block it out.
“There is a small lake over there,” he says. “And there’s another one beyond that peak.” He points in the opposite direction. “The water is crystal clear in the spring.”
“That sounds pretty.”
He glances down at me. “It is.”
Our gazes connect, snapping together like two puzzle pieces.
The grays in his eyes—a color I’ve always thought was like a cool slate, actually have tints of blue running through them.
“You ready?” he asks, gripping the straps at his shoulders like his life depends on it.
I nod.
He gives me a reluctant smile and then starts toward the trailhead.
“Four trails start here,” he says, nodding to the sign that explains that very thing. “Do you have a preference?”
“I’d like not to die.”
He chuckles. “I’m going to suggest taking this one toward Wildflower Falls. It can be busy, but I know an off-the-trail path that’s quieter and has a better view. It actually takes us to the lake you were talking about.”
“Aren’t you just a regular ole tour guide.”
He shakes his head as we head toward the trail.
Rocks and pine cones crunch under our shoes as we start the gradual ascent into the mountains. Despite Grayson saying the trail can be busy, it’s not. Not another person is within view.
Birds sing happily overhead, and Mother Nature shows off in the beautiful colors dotting the landscape.
It’s breathtaking.
“How often do you come out here?” I ask.
He grins. “A couple of days a week. More on the weekend, if I can.”
“Is this all you do for fun?”
“I guess.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “I like what I do at work. I like fixing cars and tinkering around with engines and tractors and shit. It doesn’t feel like work to me, and it’s fun too.”
Grayson steps to the side and pulls the end of a sticker bush with him. I pass through, giving him a nod of thanks as I go.
“That’s how I feel when I’m writing,” I tell him as he catches up to me. “It doesn’t feel like work.”
“Then that’s what you should do with your life.”
I smile. “See? That’s what I think. I’ve finally found the one thing that makes me feel … complete. The thing that feels like it was a part of me from the start.”
We walk quietly down the path and over tree roots and around potholes the size of my car. I take every opportunity to let my eyes feast on the man walking with me.
He’s as handsome and as sexy as he always is. But out here, there’s something calm about him, something centered, that brings him to a whole other level.
Grayson isn’t just the broody mechanic. Here, in this space, he’s the thoughtful, broody mechanic. He’s the inquisitive, shields-down, conversationalist broody mechanic. And I like it. Very much.