Runaway (Wolfes of Manhattan 3)

“You’re not really a teacher, are you?”

My cheeks warmed. “Of course I am. Why would you doubt me?”

“I’d say most teachers don’t drink a lot of champagne. Real champagne, that is, from the Champagne region in France.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Honey, you exude champagne taste. Most teachers are most assuredly on a beer budget.”

He was on to me. Not that I was overly surprised. I really didn’t know how to put on an act. Why hadn’t I said I was some kind of Hershey heiress from Pittsburgh? He might’ve believed that. Yeah, I’d had everything I could possibly want provided for me since day one.

I’d also had to deal with a lot of shit I didn’t want. Shit I’d gladly live on a teacher’s salary to be rid of.

“My parents are well-off,” I said. “They’re both lawyers, and they like champagne. I grew up with it, and even though I can’t afford to buy the really good stuff myself, I still can drink it at their place.”

The lie tasted bitter on my lips. I wasn’t sure why, but I really didn’t want to lie to Matteo Rossi. I felt transparent around him, as if he could see right through to my soul. I both liked and disliked the feeling.

“Oh.” He nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

Good. Either he bought it, or he didn’t and was going to let me think he did. I was fine either way. Just for a week I wanted to be no one.

He polished off the can of seltzer. “You sure you’re okay here?”

“Yeah.” Though I didn’t sound too convincing. Even I wasn’t buying it.

“I should go, then. I’ve got an early job in the morning.”

“What do you do, anyway?” I asked.

“I do pretty well renting out this cabin,” he said. “You know, people like you wanting to escape to a small town. I’m booked almost every week. I’m also the town silversmith.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Yup. Though it’s more of a hobby. There’s not a lot of call for fine jewelry here in Sumter Falls. Other than that, construction when it’s available, and the occasional odd job around town. That’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow morning. My friend Lucas and I are helping out an elderly widow in town. She needs her fence repaired.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“We all help each other around here. It’s the small-town way.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. The crowds walking the streets of Manhattan didn’t even want to look at each other, let alone help each other. I had a sudden inspiration.

“Do you need any help?”

“Lucas and I have it under control. Besides, it’s hard work, Riley.”

“Maybe I want to experience hard work.”

He laughed. “Most teachers I know say there’s no harder job.”

Nice, Riley. You screwed that up. Truth be told, modeling was hard work as well. I was no stranger to hard work. But I was a stranger to pure manual labor, and for some reason, it sounded compelling to me.

“Teaching is very difficult. I won’t deny it. Very challenging and rewarding, but I think I’d like to get outdoors and pound on things.”

He laughed again. “Pound on things, huh?”

Oh, he had no idea. Pounding on things sounded like nirvana at the moment.

“Yes.”

“You got it, then. I’ll be by to get you at six sharp.”

“Six in the morning?”

“You got it. Or have you changed your mind?”

I could easily get out of it. This was my vacation, after all. But damn, I wanted to spend time with Matt, and I desperately wanted to pound things. Like…desperately.

“I’ll be ready.”

“Perfect. Wear jeans and the toughest shoes you’ve got. Steel-toed would be best.”

Steel-toed? Clearly my flip-flops weren’t going to cut it. I did happen to bring a pair of old cowboy boots, though. They weren’t overly fashionable in New York, but I loved them. I’d bought them on a whim during one of my princess trips with my father in Texas.

Despite the memories they brought to the surface, I never got rid of them. I always thought they might come in handy someday.

And tomorrow, they would.10MatteoHow anyone looked so gorgeous at six in the morning was beyond me, but man, Riley Mansfield sure did. Surprisingly, she seemed to be dressed appropriately, except for a tank top, which wouldn’t do. Luckily I had some old flannels in my truck. She could wear one of those over her tank. What surprised me most was her footwear. She was wearing cowboy boots—really broken-in cowboy boots. Surprising.

“Did you get anything to eat this morning?” I asked, once she had seated herself in the passenger side of my truck.

“Are you kidding? I barely rolled out of bed in time.”

“Not a problem. Mrs. Carson always has breakfast burritos for us.”

“I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a breakfast burrito.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. Hers are the best. Her mother came from Mexico. Mrs. Carson makes the best Mexican food you’ll ever eat.”