Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands #2) - Jessica Peterson Page 0,71

an unfamiliar pair of headlights moving my way. They’re halogen, so bright it hurts to look at them. An enormous black SUV materializes out of the darkness. I take one look at the shiny gold rims and know—oh, shit—it’s Samuel.

My stomach plummets. I tug my hood over my eyes and keep my head down. A beat later, I hear the whirr of a window rolling down, followed by—wait, is that Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love” I’m hearing?

“Emma? Is that you?”

I hold up a hand but don’t stop walking. “Hi. And bye. I don’t mean to be rude, but I gotta go.”

A beat. The idling engine of his truck throbs.

I hear him change gears, and the next thing, I know he’s reversing the vehicle, following me.

Yeah, that’s definitely Van Halen. For a second, my stride falters. What are the chances Samuel’s listening to the band that always comes up in my chats with Blue?

Speaking of blue—Samuel’s still wearing that cobalt suit. And he said he had a date tonight.

Now it’s my heart that’s faltering.

No way.

No way Samuel is Blue. Right? Samuel may have come around to kindness recently, but Blue has been excellent from the beginning. Samuel was rude and narrow-minded and didn’t listen. Blue always listened. Blue always had an open mind. More than that, Blue has a grip on who he is and what he wants. Samuel didn’t, at least when we met. I’m not sure he does now.

My heart starts beating again. They can’t be the same person. It just doesn’t make sense. The music and the suit and the date—they’re coincidences, that’s all. For all I know, Samuel lied about having a date to make me jealous. Let’s not forget his history of being a dick.

Right.

“Where are you going?” Samuel asks.

“The main house,” I say.

“Why?”

I go with the truth. A version of it, anyway. “My power went out.”

“It did? Dammit. I’ll give maintenance a call. In the meantime, let me give you a ride.”

I’m freezing and tired and wet, but getting even more freezing and tired and wet is preferable to Samuel seeing me on the verge of tears in the close quarters of his truck. Who knows what will happen if I get in?

If I keep walking, I’ll make it to the main house. If I make it there, I can dry off and maybe warm up by one of the fireplaces while I shoot Blue a message to reschedule our date.

“I’m good, thanks. You’d better get where you’re headed anyway. It’s bad out here.”

“Emma, get in the truck.”

I’m wracked by a full-body shiver. My hands and nose are numb.

“Look at you, you’re gonna get yourself sick. Don’t make me come out there.”

I keep going.

“Goddammit.” I hear the clank of Samuel putting the SUV in park. My heart skips. Eyes burn.

He rounds the truck, as big and broad as a bear in his sharply cut coat. His breath billows around his head in a cloud.

“If you don’t stop walking, I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder. You have three seconds. One. Two—”

I round on him, tears blurring my eyes. “Please.”

He studies me for a stunned second. Then he slowly holds up his hands, eyebrows snapped together. “I was just kidding. I won’t touch you without your consent. But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re upset about.”

We’re trapped in our own little snow globe, the snow falling silently around us. Snowflakes catch on his eyelashes and eyebrows. He’s standing a couple of feet away, but I can still feel the warmth radiating off his body.

I want to curl into his chest and live there forever.

How do I tell him I can’t stop falling for this nice guy he’s turned into? That he’s putting me between a rock and a hard place, and I feel like I’m going to break? That my one chance to get some breathing room was dashed by this fucking storm?

“I’m not okay,” I blurt, eyes stinging, throat burning.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Walk if you want to. But if you’d let me, I’d love to give you a ride. Warm you up a little bit. And if you wanna talk about whatever’s on your mind…well, I’ve got a generator at my place, and a whole tray of lasagna with your name on it. I used Mama’s recipe with sides of Caesar salad, homemade dressing, of course, and garlic knots. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles of that 2016 Screaming Eagle to sweeten the deal.”

Fuck him.

Seriously, fuck this guy

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