Right Number, Wrong Girl

ME: Just wondering. Just saw Cait that’s all.

MUM: How is everything going? Did the menu go well? Have you done the seating plan yet?

ME: Waiting for the guest list from Nancy. Not sure on the menu.

I wasn’t going to be the one who told her that Grandma had essentially created her own entirely new menu from the set ones.

You know. The ones that couldn’t be changed.

I think the options were so she could choose things, not mix and match four separate set menus into one single one.

MUM: All right. Let me know if there are any problems. Xx

ME: Will do.

I tucked my phone into my pocket right as Sophie stepped out of the cottage. She paused to lock the blue door behind her, then tucked the keys into her jacket pocket and came over to the truck.

Sophie opened the passenger side door and looked at the step.

I pressed my tongue against my upper lip, trying not to smile. “Want a hand?”

“No, thank you. I can manage.”

“Historically, you can’t.”

“It’s only happened once.”

“And until you get into the truck without falling more times than you do, my point stands.”

She huffed out a breath, jutting out her lower lip into a pout that caught far more of my attention than it had any right to.

I was already annoyingly attracted to her.

I didn’t need her doing shit like pouting.

“One, two—” Sophie hauled herself up.

I heard the crunch of gravel before I saw her slip.

“Ow! Bloody hell!”

I jumped out of the truck and ran around the front to her. She was holding her shin, leaning against the side of the truck, and I bent down.

“Are you all right?”

“Do I bloody well sound all right? Why is it so high? I know I’m a little bit vertically challenged but come on!”

“Put your foot on here.” I patted the step, and she did just that, releasing her leg. I rolled up her jeans until I saw a graze that was about two inches long, going right down her shinbone. “It’s just a graze. You’re not even bleeding.”

Mostly.

“It hurts,” she muttered, reaching over and rolling the material back down. “I hate this stupid truck.”

“Don’t talk about her like that. It’s not her fault you’re short.”

She glared at me with such fire in her eyes I thought she was going to punch me. “You know the thing about short girls?”

“You’re cute?”