608 Alpha Ave

by Adriana Locke

  “Something like that.”

  We exchange a grin.

  “I’ll meet you at the trailhead at six?” she offers.

  “Make it six thirty, and you have yourself a deal.”

  “Deal!” She smiles broadly and backs toward the door. “Prepare an apology, though.”

  “For what?”

  She shrugs. “For whatever you may decide needs apologizing for as you ponder this meeting we have scheduled today. See you then.”

  The chimes ring, and she’s gone.

  I’m left standing in Cherrywood Lumber and Hardware Store, wondering what the hell just happened.

  Five

  Haley

  “I told you so!” Kaylee’s squeal is almost more than I can take.

  I pull the phone away from my ear. “Settle down, wild woman.”

  “I told you so. I. Told. You. So. Itoldyouso!” She sighs blissfully. “I still have it.”

  “Still have what?”

  “The ability to detect love when I see it. I thought—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say as I turn a corner to the Wild Ridge Mountains. “You’re extremely ahead of yourself.”

  She scoffs. “I told you that he was into you.”

  Even though I know this isn’t true—at least not in the way Kaylee is envisioning it, my stomach still flutters. And, despite knowing that Grayson only agreed to this whole thing because I baited him with Bryant, the idea of him being into me is admittedly nice.

  I grin, happy that Kaylee can’t see me.

  “Yeah, well, I put him on the spot. I was really feeling myself after your words of encouragement this morning. Or … whatever they were.”

  The trailhead comes into view. The dusty roofing of the ranger’s office sticks out against the majestic backdrop of the Wild Ridges. I scan the parking area and find Grayson’s truck on the end.

  My heartbeat quickens and, in one swift moment, I regret everything.

  “What?” Kaylee asks.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “Because you just sucked in a breath like you do when you’re ready to do that fake-cry thing you do.”

  She knows me so well.

  “I just …”

  I lift my foot off the accelerator. My miles-per-hour drops to a crawl. My brain rushes through the encounter at Cherrywood Lumber in some weird point of view that makes me feel like an intruder.

  And desperate.

  And … not cute.

  I can see Grayson’s gorgeous face and assessing eyes. Bryant’s sweet smile and enthusiasm for life.

  My sass. Sass that came from nowhere, and sass that I don’t feel like I truly embody.

  Dear lord, please help me.

  “I was a different person this afternoon,” I wail.

  Kaylee cracks up. “It was precisely four hours ago.”

  “So? I was a different person then. Full of spunk and moxie.”

  “You’re killing me here.”

  I pretend to sob. “Well, I’m about two minutes from killing my self-confidence and pride. Join me on the dark side—and, by dark, I mean dead.”

  Kaylee laughs so hard that it pulls the corners of my lips up too.

  I shift in my seat as my gaze drifts to Grayson’s truck again.

  “He sees me,” I say, my voice almost shrill. “He’s climbing out of his truck. Dammit, Kaylee—he’s wearing a freaking sleeveless shirt.”

  “Oh, the muscles,” she says, reminiscent of Martha May Whovier.

  It makes me laugh. That takes the sharp edge off my anxiety.

  Breathe, I remind myself. You see this man almost every day. You’re used to him as much as a woman can be used to a man like that. Just breathe. You’re going to be fine.

  “Okay,” Kaylee says. “Check your teeth and nose before you get to him. You wore deodorant, right?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  I sniff my armpits just to be sure.

  “Good,” she says. “And did you wear footwear appropriate for hiking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dammit. You should’ve worn something ridiculous like flip-flops.”

  “Um, we’re hiking. Did you miss that part?”

  “No. I fully understand where you’re going. But think about it. How are you going to trip spectacularly over a rock and right into those big, chiseled arms?” She sighs dramatically. “I’m going to need a call back as soon as your butt hits the car seat. Unless, that is, he has your butt—”

  “Enough! Don’t make my nerves worse.” I flip on my turn signal and then pull slowly into the gravel parking lot. “You’re a terrible friend.”

  She laughs. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that post-coital.”

  “We aren’t here for that,” I say, feeling tension creep into my shoulders. “It’s not like that. Can we not talk about it like that?” I pull into a parking space and put the car into park. “As a matter of fact,” I say, flipping the visor down and giving myself a quick once-over, “let’s not talk at all.” The visor snaps back up. “Teeth and nose are checked. I’m parked. I gotta go.”

  “Bye, Haley.”

  “Bye.” I punch the red button with slightly more force than necessary.

  I slip my phone into my purse and jump when a knock raps against my window.

  “Geez,” I hiss, sitting back in my seat and clutching my chest. My blood pumper is going a good three times the normal recommended rate. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to calm the freak down.

  The door pops open. The clean scent of the mountains mixed with Grayson’s body wash fills the car. It’s all I can do not to melt into a puddle on the floorboard.

  He grabs the top of the car, effectively blocking me in. The muscles in his arms and the tops of his shoulders flex. They’re thick and hard and very much unlike the bloated muscles that my last boyfriend—term used loosely—got from doing massive amounts of curls at the gym.

  “Hi,” I say, dropping my hand to the seat.

  “Hey.”

  I wait for more. Thanks for coming. Are you ready? Fuck you for doing this—something. Anything. But all I get is a hey.

  Figures.

  “You’re a man of many words,” I say under my breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.”

  I grab my backpack. Grayson steps back so I can climb out of the car.

  The mountains are glorious with their jagged shapes and towering size. I look up as I adjust the pack over my shoulders and wish I spent more time out here.

  “My grandpa used to love coming up here,” I say, my tone somber. “He died when I was a little girl—ten, maybe. But before then, we used to come up here every Saturday and fool around.”

  Grayson slings a backpack over his shoulder. “I used to come up here with my granddad too.”

  “Did he ever take you to the little lake that’s …” I look around. “Maybe over there?” I nod to the area behind the ranger shack. “Maybe not, too. It’s been a while.”

  He steps toward me, filling my nostrils with his scent. I try not to give it too much attention like I do in the bar. But it’s different out here. It’s stronger. More intentional. Sexier.

  I try to block it out.

  “There is a small lake over there,” he says. “And there’s another one beyond that peak.” He points in the opposite direction. “The water is crystal clear in the spring.”

  “That sounds pretty.”

  He glances down at me. “It is.”

  Our gazes connect, snapping together like two puzzle pieces.

  The grays in his eyes—a color I’ve always thought was like a cool slate, actually have tints of blue running through them.

  “You ready?” he asks, gripping the straps at his shoulders like his life depends on it.

  I nod.

  He gives me a reluctant smile and then starts toward the trailhead.

  “Four trails start here,” he says, nodding to the sign that explains that very thing. “Do you have
a preference?”

  “I’d like not to die.”

  He chuckles. “I’m going to suggest taking this one toward Wildflower Falls. It can be busy, but I know an off-the-trail path that’s quieter and has a better view. It actually takes us to the lake you were talking about.”

  “Aren’t you just a regular ole tour guide.”

  He shakes his head as we head toward the trail.

  Rocks and pine cones crunch under our shoes as we start the gradual ascent into the mountains. Despite Grayson saying the trail can be busy, it’s not. Not another person is within view.

  Birds sing happily overhead, and Mother Nature shows off in the beautiful colors dotting the landscape.

  It’s breathtaking.

  “How often do you come out here?” I ask.

  He grins. “A couple of days a week. More on the weekend, if I can.”

  “Is this all you do for fun?”

  “I guess.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “I like what I do at work. I like fixing cars and tinkering around with engines and tractors and shit. It doesn’t feel like work to me, and it’s fun too.”

  Grayson steps to the side and pulls the end of a sticker bush with him. I pass through, giving him a nod of thanks as I go.

  “That’s how I feel when I’m writing,” I tell him as he catches up to me. “It doesn’t feel like work.”

  “Then that’s what you should do with your life.”

  I smile. “See? That’s what I think. I’ve finally found the one thing that makes me feel … complete. The thing that feels like it was a part of me from the start.”

  We walk quietly down the path and over tree roots and around potholes the size of my car. I take every opportunity to let my eyes feast on the man walking with me.

  He’s as handsome and as sexy as he always is. But out here, there’s something calm about him, something centered, that brings him to a whole other level.

  Grayson isn’t just the broody mechanic. Here, in this space, he’s the thoughtful, broody mechanic. He’s the inquisitive, shields-down, conversationalist broody mechanic. And I like it. Very much.

  “So, these questions you have for me,” he says, “they have to do with your book?”

  The easiness of the conversation fades away, floating on the breeze right along with Grayson’s question. In its place is the stress and frustration that I live with on a daily basis.

  My shoulders tense. “Yeah. It does. Partly.”

  He looks at me over his shoulder. “And the other part?”

  “Men are just so … full of shit,” I say, keeping my eyes on the path. “Which is fine. Women are too half of the time.”

  “Half?”

  “Three-quarters?” I flip my eyes to him and laugh. “But I feel like I’m walking on the path of life, and it’s dangerous, you know? You’re supposed to do it as a team. I’m wearing my I Still Need A Partner shirt, but every time a man offers me his hand, he ends up saying I never wore that shirt—that he had no idea what I was looking for.”

  Grayson nibbles on his bottom lip as he lets my words marinate.

  “I get that we need to test out different hands in life,” I say. “You have to find the one that fits. But I don’t want to be the girl who tests out hands for ten years and then finally takes one that doesn’t really fit just because it’ll do, and then stumbles down the freaking path for the next sixty years because I’m halfway dragging the other person along.”

  His lip pops free. “That’s a lot of metaphors.”

  “Yeah. It is.” But I desperately don’t want to end up alone, and it seems the only thing I do have is metaphors.

  Grayson stops ahead of me and points into the trees. “There’s a path through there that will wind us back to this one over by Wildflower Falls.” He looks around. “This path isn’t too busy. It’s up to you.”

  A woman’s laughter makes its way from the area in front of us. And while we might just pass her and be done with it, getting to utilize Grayson’s willingness to listen and talk is something I’d like to do uninterrupted.

  “Let’s take your secret path,” I tease.

  He shakes his head but leads me through a small patch of weeds. Then, just as he promised, a lightly used trail appears out of nowhere.

  “I think this was popular years ago,” he says as we hike up a small incline. “Then they monetized the Falls with rafts in the summer and all that bullshit, and everyone forgot about this trail and the smaller lake.”

  “Lucky you.”

  He shrugs.

  “So, tell me what a woman should know about a man. What drives you? What motivates you? What makes men tick?” I ask.

  He laughs. It’s a carefree sound that’s full of amusement and without judgment.

  Hall-le-freaking-lujah.

  “That would be like me asking you what makes women tick,” he says.

  “And I’d answer that with shopping, pizza, and Jason Momoa.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “It’s true,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  “Well, men aren’t exactly complicated, but we can’t all be jammed into a box either.” He pauses. “Take Bryant, for example. Do you think the two of us are the same?”

  “No. He’s nice. You’re an asshole.”

  I flinch as the words tumble out of my mouth. It’s an asshole thing of me to say, and I start to apologize when Grayson laughs.

  “True,” he says. “He’s nice. I’m real.”

  I’m real.

  What the hell does that mean?

  We walk along in silence for a couple of minutes. The path becomes less developed, and the flora on the sides encroaches on us. Greenery sweeps against my legs, and I realize I should’ve worn jeans.

  Oops.

  “Bryant and I do have similarities,” he says out of nowhere.

  I hustle to catch up with him. “Really? Like what?”

  “We both enjoy a hard day’s work,” he says, looking straight ahead. “We both want respect. We both enjoy the company of a woman. I think, for the most part, those things make a lot of men tick, as you put it.”

  His arm brushes against mine as I sidestep a thorn bush. The contact is enough to flip a turbo booster on my libido.

  His gaze falls to me. This time, he searches my eyes for something that I can’t quite discern.

  “Which brings me to my next question,” I say. “Why do men prefer thongs and red lips?”

  The search stops, and he shakes his head. “They don’t.”

  “Oh, I think they do. I know they do. Trust me. I’m on this side of it.”

  “And I’m on this side of it, so you should trust me.”

  We take a few more steps down the trail until it stops. The lake I remember from my childhood is sparkling in front of us. A small beach filled with as many rocks as it has grains of sand creates a welcoming cove in the midst of the lush forest surrounding it.

  “But men don’t even see me, Grayson,” I say, my voice softer. “It’s like I’m a perpetual wallflower. And, if by some grace of God they do spy me as I’m blending into my surroundings, I’m just a … a speed bump they haul ass over as they get to whatever destination they’re aiming toward. And that end point is not me. Ever.”

  He looks at me, puzzled. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “What? No. I’m being serious right now. This is what I want to know. Well, one of the things, but it’s a great starting point.”

  His fingers clench around the straps again.

  I wiggle under his stare, the weight of it too intense to bear. He makes no bones about taking me in, searching every last bit of me.

  “Grayson …” I say finally.

  He drops his hands from his shoulders. “You really think that?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Fine. I’ll break this down for ya.” He runs his tongue around the inside of his cheek. “You aren’t a speed bump. You’re no fucking wallflower. Girls like you are it—you’re the prize at the end of the g
ame.”

  My mouth goes dry.

  I’m the … what?

  His tone lowers. “Some dudes won’t want the prize—they aren’t ready for it. So, they’ll get a taste of what life will be like someday if they ever find a woman like you that’ll have them and all their fucked-up-ness. Other men will be too scared of you to even say shit because they know they don’t deserve you and fear that you’ll discover that and make them feel even more worthless.”

  I blink. Twice. Three times.

  I hold my breath and wait for the punchline. I wait for the or, the but, the and then there’s the other guy … but he doesn’t say anything else.

  My head spins. My brain threatens to explode. My heart pumps blood so fast throughout my body that I think I might pass out.

  The only thing that keeps me on my feet is the stare of the gorgeous man in front of me. Who is this man with so many words? Because, what the hell?

  His eyes shine with sincerity. The blue streaks that I now know exist sparkle amidst the grays. The smirk that I usually see on his lips is replaced with a soft, slow smile that melts my heart into liquid goo.

  “So, I’m a prize?” I say, feeling like I need to say something.

  The words break the tension, and he laughs.

  “Which guy are you?” I tease. “You’re the one who doesn’t want the prize, aren’t you? You’re not ready for a woman like me.”

  He takes a step back and takes his backpack off. He holds it at his side, the white of his knuckles making the ink staining them pop.

  “That’s okay,” I say, walking by him. “That’s what guys like Bryant are for.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. I turn around to see Grayson looking at me, his eyes wild.

  “What?” I ask, oblivious to what caused the change in his mood.

  He grins. It’s not the easy, comfortable smile from a moment ago. It’s deeper. Darker. Seductive.

  I swallow a moan and reach for the trunk of a tree beside the path.

  “Guys like Bryant, huh?” he asks, each word punctuated.

  The confident woman I’m truly not chooses this moment to reappear. Emboldened by the heat of Grayson’s gaze and the grittiness of his voice, I bat my lashes.

  “Well, guys like Bryant aren’t afraid to at least taste what life will be like for them someday,” I say, not daring to break eye contact.