Sweet Joymaker (Indigo Bay Christmas Romances #3) - Jean Oram Page 0,11

to Clint.

“But?”

“Sometimes people need to keep their feet on solid ground.”

He had swung a leg over the scooter, but now dismounted and came over to her. “Everyone needs a little downtime.” He was standing close. Not so near to be intimate, but enough that she noticed him in her personal space. He was acting as though he belonged there, and it felt like he did, too.

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Let me take care of you. You’re always taking care of others.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you say that?”

“Because you look like you could use some fun.”

“I have fun,” she muttered, shaking off his hand. Great. Now she felt affronted, as well as miffed about their forgotten lunch plans. This was why you didn’t get involved so late in life. Everyone had their own groove and couldn’t be bothered to think of how to fit others into it.

“Maria, Maria…” he said gently. “Why not explore all this town has to offer?”

“On this thing?”

“We’re not too old to try new stuff.”

She felt the heat in his gaze as he said those words, as well as an increasing temptation to just let go and jump on the scooter. She used to have fun. Used to be bold and brave in ways she wasn’t now. Now she was a rock. And where did rocks get you? Not on an adventure. Instead they weighed you down.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m responsible.”

Clint laughed, his eyes crinkling. It had been a stupid thing to say, but having him laugh made her anger flare.

“So am I, sweetheart.”

She rolled her shoulders, trying to sort out why the endearment was softening her. She didn’t soften. Not for anyone. And not when she was ready to stand her ground.

“Do you trust me to take you out for a spin?”

“I came here for lunch.”

He picked up a backpack she hadn’t noticed. “Lunch.”

She blinked. He’d packed food? That meant he hadn’t forgotten. He’d planned. And the scooter, she suddenly realized, was part of that plan. A romantic, be-free-and-slightly-wild-without-standing-up-in-a-convertible plan. She didn’t know whether to jump on the scooter or sit down and cry over his thoughtfulness. Or both.

“Let me take care of the petty things so you can savor a few moments of joy,” he said. His tone reminded her of the one her veterinarian son, Brant, used when he was coaxing an animal into the clinic so he could help it.

“Like riding on the back of a scooter?” Was that joy?

“You won’t know if you like it until you try.”

She met his gaze, and that infuriating heat reared up like an unbroken horse again. It made her want to throw her arms around his neck and say yes, yes, yes!

“Life’s short,” he said, his voice deep and low and slightly hypnotizing. “Let’s not waste another moment of it.”

Lord have mercy, she was moments away from jumping onto the scooter and telling him to hit the gas.

Her eyes were still locked on his. His solid gaze was so trusting and sincere. She couldn’t think of a single reason not to get on that machine, snuggle in close and let herself be free, if only for one simple, innocent afternoon.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Give me the helmet. Let’s see how fast this thing can go with two old clowns shouting into the wind.”

Scooters were not made for two people. At least not two adults who had filled out with age, life and children, or weren’t ready to snuggle in close.

Still, it was remarkably pleasant, and Maria couldn’t help but notice the firm muscles she clung to as she held Clint tight. He was driving down a beach road, the ocean at their side, the smell of salt and seaweed in the air. It was picturesque, with everything so blue and green despite it being December. The ocean, the sky. Then the pale browns of seagrass and sand. It made her want to take up painting again.

It hadn’t helped, seeing all those wonderful paint chips at Seaside Cycles. They’d stopped by along the way to choose the right blue, in case Jeff couldn’t mix it with what he had in stock.

A spark had ignited inside her as she viewed that wall of paint colors. So many opportunities to brighten the world, one vehicle at a time. She’d walked straight to the color she’d envisioned for the scooter, but then had spent another twenty minutes admiring and dreaming about all the blues she hadn’t chosen.

Clint slowed the machine, steering into a roadside lot.