His lips twist into a smirk.
“I once used them to hold up a clothes rod in my closet,” I babble, desperate for him to let it go. I haven’t flirted in a million years. My flirt-er is broken. “And I zip-tied my shoes onto my feet one night. Long story.”
“I bet.”
I smile in hopes it distracts him. “So, about the bumper?”
“Yeah. The bumper.” He crouches down, keeping an eye on me. “Come here and hold it up.”
I squat next to him, doing my best to keep the scent of his cologne at bay. It’s persistent. Before I know it, the notes of tobacco and amber are flirting with my core.
It doesn’t take him long at all to fasten the bumper … somewhere. All I know is that it isn’t touching the pavement anymore and that’s good enough for me.
He wipes his hands down the front of his jeans as he stands. “That should hold pretty well for a while. But you do need to have someone take a look and make sure nothing else is broken.”
“I will,” I lie, ignoring the roar of a truck on the road behind us.
The wind kicks up, ruffling the edge of my shirt. But as I stand next to Oliver, I absorb the calm, sturdy energy rippling off him. It’s nice. I wish I could bottle it up and take it home with me.
His eyes search mine. “I wasn’t kidding about my mechanic. I’d be happy to have him take a look at it for you, if you want.”
“I’ve already caused you enough problems for one day.”
He smiles. “We could schedule it for tomorrow then. We could grab lunch while it’s being looked at.”
Suddenly, I don’t know what to say.
He’s been so kind to me, despite the situation. I could never tell him how much I appreciate that. But not only am I not getting my car fixed—tomorrow or any other day—I also have a laundry list of things that require my attention. Lunching with a gorgeous stranger is anxiety I don’t need to worry about for the next twenty-four hours.
Who am I kidding? I’d replay that scenario for days and overthink it every time.
“I’m sorry for all of this,” I say. “But I need to get going.”
“Oh. Okay,” he says warily. “You will get that checked out, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
I turn toward my car door.
“Should we exchange contact information?” he asks. “Just in case? I’d like to check on you in a day or two and make sure you’re all right.”
I grab the handle and pause.
My heart betrays me. It beats harder, obviously affected by this gorgeous specimen named Oliver Mason with four brothers and a miracle mom. My body double-crosses me too, tingling from my hairline down to my toes. I’d like you to make sure I’m all right too, Oliver Mason, it cries.
I take a moment to breathe.
I haven’t been attracted to anyone in so long. At first, it was because of the divorce. Six years of a marriage that blows up in your face will make you a little bitter about relationships. Then it was that my husband died before we could sign the papers. I wasn’t in love with Luca anymore, but there’s something about being a widow and not a divorcee that screws with you a little bit. And when you’re suddenly saddled with a load of debt that your ex was supposed to take with him? That’s fun—with every drop of sarcasm that will fit into the word.
Here I am, buzzing with an energy that’s taking me by surprise—something that I haven’t experienced in years—on a day when it’s apparent that I have no time nor space in my life for such luxuries as lunch with a cover model. This kind man doesn’t need any more of my crazy.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, pulling the door open. “If you need my contact information for your insurance company, I use the local branch of Beach Bureau Insurance. They know me there.”
He furrows his brow. The sun shines from behind him, illuminating him like a hero in a movie. His lips part and I hold my breath, both hoping he says something and wishing he won’t.
He doesn’t.
“Goodbye, Oliver,” I say.
“Goodbye, Shaye ...”
His words drift off into the air as though maybe I’ll capture them and volley them back again.
But I don’t.
I climb inside my car and pull away before I can change my mind.
I don’t even look back.
Two
Oliver
“It’s about time you made it.”
My youngest brother, Boone, launches the words in my direction before I have a chance to close the door.
The birthday party for Rosie, the little girl who my brother and his fiancée are in the process of adopting, has all but ended. There are three cars in the driveway, belonging to my mother, Boone, and his soon-to-be-wife, Jaxi.
“I’m sorry the car accident that I was in just inconvenienced you,” I say, setting my keys on the table in the entryway.
“A car accident?” My mother appears out of thin air, clutching a glass of water with lemon. Her free hand touches her chest. “What are you talking about, Oliver?”
Boone stands in the living room off the foyer with his chin pointed at the ceiling. It’s clear he didn’t tell our mother about my fender bender.
This is going to be fun.
“Didn’t Boone tell you, Mom?” I ask, widening my eyes for effect.
“Tell me what?” Mom looks at me, then at Boone, before settling her gaze on me once again. “Boone didn’t tell me what, Oliver?”
“I’m late because a car slammed into me on the way over here.”
Her hand drops to her side. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head.
“Are you all right?” She looks me up and down. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I look past her at Boone. “I told him. I figured he’d tell you.”
She gives me a quick once-over as only a mother can. Apparently satisfied that I’m in one piece and no worse for wear, she pivots in a tight circle.
I smile at Boone over her shoulder. He rolls his eyes in return.
“How dare you not tell me, Boone Michael?” Mom says.
“Ooh, middle name. You’re in trouble,” I tease.
She snaps me a warning glare before turning back to Boone. I try my best not to chuckle but fail miserably.
“He was fine,” Boone says as if the entire conversation exhausts him. “You would’ve just worried. And he was fine. Did I mention that?”
“It’s my job to worry.” She flips him a pointed look before turning her attention back to me again. “Was anyone hurt?”
Just my ego.
“Everyone is fine,” I say, pressing a kiss to her cheek. And then, before she can poke any deeper, I head into the kitchen.
Even if I didn’t know that Siggy Mason was here before I came into the kitchen, I would’ve known now.
An assortment of leftovers is in warming trays along the counter. I peek inside and find meatballs, egg noodles, and mini corn on the cob. There’s a sliced pork loin because it’s Boone’s favorite and a big pan of mashed potatoes with golden butter melted on top.
On the island is a charcuterie board of cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and nuts. Mom has made these since we were kids. It amuses her that they’re trendy now.