she didn’t want to have with him. The memories she’d locked away sure to bubble to the surface.
She pulled open the door to the shop, walking in just as he was walking out. “Where are you going?”
He arched a brow, as if she was one to be asking questions when she’d left him hanging not so long ago. “I need to run to Kern’s Hardware.”
“Can I hitch a ride?”
“To where?”
“Just a ride.” She didn’t have anywhere to go. She just needed to apologize.
“Truck’s right there,” he said, nodding to the space in front of her shop.
It was an older model, and still had a bench seat. A lot like the truck he’d driven in high school. Buckets were comfortable, but there’d been something about cuddling in the front of his truck, his arm around her shoulder, their thighs pressed tight, the windows down and her hair whipping into her face . . .
Not that any of that was going to happen now, she mused, slamming the passenger door and buckling up. Still, the recollection was a nice one, even if it had her revisiting the rest of the things they’d done in his truck’s front seat. Taking a deep breath to dispel the thoughts had her swimming in his scent.
She was so screwed.
“You’re going to have to tell me where to let you out, or it’s the hardware store for you.”
Staring out her window as he drove, she smiled. “Kern’s is fine. I can walk to String Theory from there.”
She’d pulled the name of the fabric shop out of her hat. It was across the street and two doors down from Kern’s. Still, while she was in the neighborhood . . . “I need to get a couple of patches for the chairs in the kitchen at home. They’ve seen better days. Though that’s pretty typical for hand-me-downs.”
“You got that right. Take it from someone who’s used a lot of spit and baling wire on other people’s garbage.”
He’d left home at eighteen. He’d spent the next three years in prison. He’d been on the road for over a decade since, save for the last year when he’d lived first in his brother’s home, then in the cottage that belonged to his sister. Thea supposed he was just as familiar as she with secondhand things, though maybe she’d started first, her crib coming from a garage sale and all.
And then she blurted out, “I’m sorry,” because she didn’t know how else to get there.
“For what?” he asked, and snorted. “Me having nothing to my name?”
“No. I mean, well, yes.” Could she be any clumsier? “I am sorry about that, but the apology was for walking out on you earlier.”
“What about yesterday? Do I get one for then, too?” he asked, giving her a side-eyed glance. “Or maybe I need to be apologizing to you. I ruined you for other men. I’ve never been a gentleman. Hell, with that résumé, it’s a wonder you trust me to drive you to buy . . . What was it? Patches?”
“Fine. I don’t really need the patches. I mean, I do”—Frannie’s youngest had found holes in the fabric of two of the kitchen’s chairs and gone to town—“but the chairs aren’t going anywhere, and you were.”
“And you figured if you were in a moving vehicle it would be harder to walk out if things got tough.”
Something like that. No. Exactly like that. “What are we doing here, Dakota? And I don’t mean going shopping.”
“You mean how did two crazy kids from Round Rock end up together in Hope Springs?”
She knew her story. She just wasn’t ready to tell him that he was a big part of her being here. And she knew his, so . . . “Are you going to be able to do this job, or am I in your way?”
He slowed at the corner stop sign, glanced over as he put the truck into motion again. “That’s a hell of a loaded question, Clark.”
Was there anything about their relationship that wasn’t? “It’s all I need to know today. Just the one thing.”
“I guess it depends. If we stick to our agreement not to talk about the past, to keep to business and the
She pulled open the door to the shop, walking in just as he was walking out. “Where are you going?”
He arched a brow, as if she was one to be asking questions when she’d left him hanging not so long ago. “I need to run to Kern’s Hardware.”
“Can I hitch a ride?”
“To where?”
“Just a ride.” She didn’t have anywhere to go. She just needed to apologize.
“Truck’s right there,” he said, nodding to the space in front of her shop.
It was an older model, and still had a bench seat. A lot like the truck he’d driven in high school. Buckets were comfortable, but there’d been something about cuddling in the front of his truck, his arm around her shoulder, their thighs pressed tight, the windows down and her hair whipping into her face . . .
Not that any of that was going to happen now, she mused, slamming the passenger door and buckling up. Still, the recollection was a nice one, even if it had her revisiting the rest of the things they’d done in his truck’s front seat. Taking a deep breath to dispel the thoughts had her swimming in his scent.
She was so screwed.
“You’re going to have to tell me where to let you out, or it’s the hardware store for you.”
Staring out her window as he drove, she smiled. “Kern’s is fine. I can walk to String Theory from there.”
She’d pulled the name of the fabric shop out of her hat. It was across the street and two doors down from Kern’s. Still, while she was in the neighborhood . . . “I need to get a couple of patches for the chairs in the kitchen at home. They’ve seen better days. Though that’s pretty typical for hand-me-downs.”
“You got that right. Take it from someone who’s used a lot of spit and baling wire on other people’s garbage.”
He’d left home at eighteen. He’d spent the next three years in prison. He’d been on the road for over a decade since, save for the last year when he’d lived first in his brother’s home, then in the cottage that belonged to his sister. Thea supposed he was just as familiar as she with secondhand things, though maybe she’d started first, her crib coming from a garage sale and all.
And then she blurted out, “I’m sorry,” because she didn’t know how else to get there.
“For what?” he asked, and snorted. “Me having nothing to my name?”
“No. I mean, well, yes.” Could she be any clumsier? “I am sorry about that, but the apology was for walking out on you earlier.”
“What about yesterday? Do I get one for then, too?” he asked, giving her a side-eyed glance. “Or maybe I need to be apologizing to you. I ruined you for other men. I’ve never been a gentleman. Hell, with that résumé, it’s a wonder you trust me to drive you to buy . . . What was it? Patches?”
“Fine. I don’t really need the patches. I mean, I do”—Frannie’s youngest had found holes in the fabric of two of the kitchen’s chairs and gone to town—“but the chairs aren’t going anywhere, and you were.”
“And you figured if you were in a moving vehicle it would be harder to walk out if things got tough.”
Something like that. No. Exactly like that. “What are we doing here, Dakota? And I don’t mean going shopping.”
“You mean how did two crazy kids from Round Rock end up together in Hope Springs?”
She knew her story. She just wasn’t ready to tell him that he was a big part of her being here. And she knew his, so . . . “Are you going to be able to do this job, or am I in your way?”
He slowed at the corner stop sign, glanced over as he put the truck into motion again. “That’s a hell of a loaded question, Clark.”
Was there anything about their relationship that wasn’t? “It’s all I need to know today. Just the one thing.”
“I guess it depends. If we stick to our agreement not to talk about the past, to keep to business and the
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