Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
My heart soars at his sweet words, then stutters and takes a nosedive. “Because you don’t want anyone reporting to Remy that we were out together?” One charming part of living in such a small town—rumors about the most mundane things spread fast.
Disappointment or frustration dulls his expression. As if to disprove my accusation, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and tucks me close to his body. “No. We come here all the time.”
True. “You’re not usually so touchy-feely, though.” Why can’t I just shut my mouth and enjoy this?
He leans in and kisses my temple. “I can’t help it,” he says against my ear.
His lips just touched my skin. In public. My heart’s about to cartwheel right out of my chest. What am I even arguing with him about?
I’m a tangle of emotions on the way to work. I can’t unravel Griff’s words and dissect each of his touches. I’m too busy holding onto his body. He takes the roads slow and easy, lazily guiding the big machine with confidence.
The parking lot at work is half-full. It won’t get busy until later. Griff roars up the steep slope to the employee parking lot on the side of the store and stops all the way at the end of the lot where the asphalt gives way to stone, dirt, a few dark-brown picnic benches, and finally, a ring of pine trees. It’s a peaceful spot. Even in the winter I try to take my breaks out here, away from everyone. Sharing the spot with Griff makes it even more special.
I clamber off the back of the bike, hopping a little on one foot, almost losing my balance. Griff reaches out to steady me, resting his hand on my waist.
“I gotcha,” he says.
“Thanks.”
We settle at one of the benches and unwrap our food. A soft breeze rustles through the trees around us as we finish eating. Our conversation flows easily—well, mostly I talk about school, and Griff listens or asks me questions. Every now and then the metallic rattling of a shopping cart over the choppy asphalt or the rumble of an engine drifts up from the lower parking lot but otherwise, it’s quiet.
“You want me to pick you up when you’re done?” Griff asks.
My heart trips over itself. “Yeah. Of course. I mean, unless you have other stuff to do.”
“No, I’ll be done at the garage. I was planning to stop at the bar and help your brother close the place down.”
I pick at the last piece of my bagel. “Remy doesn’t like me there.”
“He’s not the boss of you.” His lips quirk as he repeats words I’ve said many times. “But if you don’t want to go there, I’ll drop you off at home first.” He shrugs. “I just want to see you.”
Warmth replaces my uncertainty. “I want to see you too,” I whisper.
When we’re finished, I gather our trash and run to toss it in one of the garbage cans dotting the edge of the parking lot. Griff’s already on his bike by the time I return. Shoot, yeah—he probably needs to get back to work.
“Hop on!” he yells over the loud purr of his engine.
“For a ride to the door,” I shout, wildly waving my hands toward the store, “that’s two hundred feet away?”
He flashes a lopsided grin. “Yup.”
Shaking my head, I strap my helmet back on, hoist my backpack over my shoulders again, and straddle the bike.
He takes a lazy path through the parking lot, weaving in and out of the half-empty rows of cars as if he wants to prolong our last few minutes together as much as I do. The thrill of riding with Griff never gets old, even if it’s only a short distance.
Finally, the bike rumbles to a stop by the door at the far end of the parking lot. More warmth fills my chest. He must have remembered this is the entrance I need to use to clock in. I brace myself on his shoulder and swing my leg over the seat, carefully lowering myself to the ground.
I unstrap my helmet.
“Keep it with you,” Griff says. “I’ll be back to get you later. Seven, right?”
“I have to count my till, so more like seven-ten.”
“I’ll be here.”
My heart soars.
My afternoon rolls downhill after Griff leaves. My favorite coworker, Becky, called out sick, leaving me with no one to talk to. It’s double-coupon night, so we’re extra busy and short-staffed. Finally, around a quarter to seven my line thins down to only a trickle of customers.
I smile at the older man in front of me and hand him his change. “Have a good night.”
He nods and grabs his bag. “Thank you. I hate those self-checkout things all the stores are installing these days. I prefer a real person ringing me out.” His gaze shifts to the back of the store. “You tell ol’ Mr. Miller that.”