by Devney Perry
I hopped down first, holding out a hand to help Londyn. She took it, this second touch as electric as the first.
Goddamn. I was in trouble if it took more than a day or two to get her car on the road. I let her go and reached for the suitcases.
“I can get them,” she offered.
“Sally and Meggie would have my hide if I didn’t carry in your bags.” Then they’d call my mother and she’d deliver her own licking.
I led the way to the motel, setting aside the luggage to open the door for her. Sally was off her stool and rushing to greet Londyn.
Sally swallowed a bite of whatever she’d been chewing. “Come on in here, sweetheart.”
“I’ve got your room all ready,” Meggie said. “Room five.”
Sally winked. “It’s the best one.”
“You’re in good hands. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I deposited Londyn’s bags and waved goodbye. “Night, ladies.”
A chorus of good nights followed me into the dark.
“Heavens, that man has an ass that won’t quit.”
I chuckled, rolling my eyes at Meggie’s comment. She was twenty-something years my senior and had made it her personal mission in life to make sure I knew she appreciated my body.
I took one last look at the lobby as I climbed into the truck. Londyn’s eyes shot up from where she’d been staring at my ass.
I grinned. I guess we were even now.
“Morning, Br—” Tony looked me up and down. “There a funeral or wedding I didn’t hear about?”
“No.” I shrugged. “I needed a cut and shave.”
“Look awful slick for a man who was up half the night towing in this car.” He tapped a knuckle on the hood of Londyn’s red Cadillac. “She must be prettier than Sally let on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, his chest shaking with a silent laugh.
Sally and Tony had been lovers for more years than I’d been alive. They weren’t married. They lived in separate homes. But when she finally retired to bed, it was usually in his. That, or he was already asleep in hers. They didn’t date other people. They’d been blissfully single for decades but were the farthest thing from it.
Sally had probably woken up early with Tony this morning—or hadn’t even gone to bed yet—to give him all the details on Londyn.
She was pretty. Damn pretty. I doubted anything Sally could say would do Londyn justice. But I hadn’t stopped at the barbershop only for Londyn. It was summer and too hot for a mop on my head and scruff on my face.
“Just needed a shave, Tony.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
I ignored his smirk and walked around to the damaged side of the Cadillac, crouching down on the concrete to get a closer look.
“She did a number on this panel.” My fingers skimmed the scratches that led from the passenger door to the back taillight. “The front tire’s shot too.”
It had to be more than a nail to blow out one of these tires. They were a custom size and practically new. Some might try to save a buck and fix this one, but it wouldn’t be a solid repair.
Londyn’s safety had crept up my list of priorities awfully fast.
“I’ll order a new tire first thing. Get it fixed today.”
“What about the panel?” Tony asked, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee. I’d never understand how he could drink it boiling hot all day long, even when it was a hundred degrees outside and the humidity was off the charts.
“I’ll get ahold of Mack at the body shop. If I get this tire fixed today, maybe he can fit it into his schedule this week to fix the paint.”
Which meant Londyn would be on her way in three or four days and I wouldn’t feel the need to keep going to the barbershop at seven in the morning for a shave and a haircut.
“Hello?” A soft, silky voice filled the shop and made my pulse race.
“Morning, miss.” Tony grinned. “How can we help you?”
I stood, catching up to him before he could shake Londyn’s hand with his greasy palm. I clapped him on the shoulder. “I got this, Tony.”
He looked at me, then at Londyn and back again. A slow grin spread across his cheeks, revealing the dimples that Sally praised as often as Meggie did my ass. “Then I think I’ll take a wander down the road to see what kind of treats the Express Hut has today and get a refill on my coffee.”
Tony bowed a bit as he passed Londyn, twisting his wrist in a wave.
I waited until he was out of earshot, then tipped my head to Londyn. “Mornin’. How was the rest of your night?”
“It was fine. Uneventful. I just fell asleep.”
I did my best not to think of Londyn anywhere near the vicinity of a bed, but it was difficult given her attire. She wore a pair of shorts that molded to the perfect curve of her hips. The V-neck of her tee plunged to reveal a delicious line of cleavage.
“Brooks?”
Fuck. She’d caught me staring at her breasts. I spun away from her, running a hand through my fresh haircut. “So, uh . . . the car.”
“I was anxious to see it in the light of day so I didn’t wait for you to call. How bad is it?” She walked deeper into the garage, her flip-flops slapping with each step. If I’d offended her, she didn’t let on. Her focus was entirely on the Cadillac.
“It’s not horrible.” I went to the wrecked side. “I’m going to get the wheel fixed today, but I think a patch won’t last to California. It’ll be best to buy a new tire.”
“Okay. And the side?”
“The panel has a few minor dents but nothing that can’t be popped out. The paint will have to be touched up.”
“And you can do all that?”
“I’m more of an engine guy. I fix a lot of tires for folks in town. Body work isn’t my specialty.”
I’d make a mess of this kind of precision work, and I could tell someone had dumped a ton of money into this car. This Cadillac had all the modern touches to the interior and the engine was top of the line. When I’d unloaded it off the tow truck last night, I hadn’t been able to resist a look under the hood.
The engine was almost as sexy as the woman at my side.
Almost.
“I don’t know what this car looked like in the before picture, but I’m guessing it was a complete rebuild, right?”
“Yes. I had it restored a couple of years ago.”
“Had to have been expensive.”
“It wasn’t cheap, let’s just say that.”
I chuckled. “Figured as much.”
“What do I do? I’d really like to avoid having to go back to Boston to get it fixed. And I can’t take it to California as it is. Shit.” Before I could help, she started pacing, running her hands through the ponytail that hung over one shoulder. “I should have stayed on the interstate.”
“Why’d you get off?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I was tired of being on that road.”
I had a feeling she wasn’t talking about the pavement.
“The interstate is overrated.” I looked down at her, studying the color of her eyes.
They were a rich green close to the shade of a dark jade ring my sister had bought on a visit to Asia last year. Though Londyn’s eyes were far more beautiful and unique than that simple stone. I suspected a lot about her story was one of a kind.
“I’ve got a good friend who owns a body shop in town. He’s good. He can get the dents worked out and the paint redone on this side. He’s usually booked out months, but he owes me a favor because I rebuilt an engine for him last year. I’ll call it in.”
“Thank you.” She blew out a long breath. “How long?”
“Three or four days. That going to be a problem?”
“No, I guess not.” She turned to the open door of the garage, looking past the large sycamore that towered over the parking lot. “I guess I’ll have some time to explore Summers.”
“It’s a nice town. There are likely worse place
s to be stranded.”
“Probably.” She smiled. “I walked over this morning and from the bit I’ve seen, it does seem nice.”
“The diner has the best pie in West Virginia.”
“Is that right?” She raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll have to try it out.”
“Their cheeseburgers aren’t bad either.”
“Good to know. So you’ll call me?”
I nodded, then dug into my jeans pocket to retrieve a small black flip phone. “Here.”
She eyed it. “What’s that?”
“A cheap phone from Walmart.”
Her eyes snapped to mine and as they caught the overhead light, flecks of caramel glinted in the center starburst. Beautiful, like everything else about this mysterious woman.
“Here.” I held it out.
She didn’t take it. “You got me a phone?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Because last night I’d tossed and turned, thinking of her on the side of the highway, stranded and alone. “You’re a single woman traveling by yourself. You should have a phone.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks.”
I stepped closer. “I don’t want to turn on the news one night to see a story about how that gorgeous woman whose car I helped fix got butchered by some maniac at a rest stop outside California.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Gorgeous?”
“You’ve got a mirror, Londyn.” Of course she’d caught the one word I hadn’t meant to say. But it was out there now and I’d own the slip. It was the damn truth.
She blushed, a smile toying at the corners of her mouth as she stared at the phone. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”
“Just the kind of man I am, so do me a solid. Cut me a break and take the phone. My number’s in the texts.”
She picked it up from my palm, opening it only to close it immediately. “Three days?”
“Maybe four. Then you’ll be on your way.”
And I’d always wonder what had happened to the woman with the jade-green eyes and hair the color of a wheat field in fall. Had she made it to California? Had she turned back for Boston?
Maybe in five years, I’d dial the number to that phone just to see where Londyn had landed.
Maybe she’d even answer.
Chapter Four
Londyn
Summers, West Virginia.
The little town surprised me. I’d awoken this morning expecting to feel restless and impatient to leave. My journey to California was in its infancy and being stranded should have made me feel twitchy. On the contrary, I was actually enjoying myself.
There was something about this place. Something different than anywhere else I’d visited or lived. Charm, maybe? Everydayness? I couldn’t put a word to it, but whatever the feeling, it had wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Yet again, maybe that was just the humidity.
As I walked down a quiet road, my soul was at peace. I wasn’t panicked or worried about my car’s repairs. I trusted Brooks to set the Cadillac to rights—another surprise, considering I’d only just met the man.
My steps were easy and slow as I strolled, my attention on the towering trees. This town had more trees than anywhere else I’d visited. Not a lawn I passed had less than two shading the green grass. Their canopy created a pocket in the world, the towering branches shedding glitter as sunlight broke through the leaves to illuminate the pollen floating to the ground.
It was easy to think the rest of the world didn’t exist in this cocoon. I’d found a long residential street on my explorations this morning. It was straight as an arrow and the trees arched over the blocks. It was like stepping into a wardrobe and finding Narnia—minus the ice queen. There was no flat tire. There was no ex-husband or pregnant mistress. Of all the places in the world to get stuck, Summers was now at the top of my list.
“Morning.” A man on a porch raised a hand.
“Good morning.” I smiled, replaying the words with his Appalachian accent.
I hadn’t heard it before coming to Summers, and even here, not many had it. The inflections were different than a Southern drawl. Those who spoke with the accent barely seemed to move their lips as they talked.
The man nodded from his rocking chair on the porch as I passed, his newspaper in hand. He looked comfortable there, like he might sit out all day. Or maybe he’d duck inside soon to the air conditioning. It was midmorning and the heat was on the rise. Coupled with the humidity, it was like breathing air from a steam room. By the time I went to bed tonight, I’d likely be a sticky mess.
Why didn’t that bother me? Another wonder. I liked the thick air. My skin felt supple and my lungs hydrated. There were days in Boston when the summer was sweltering and muggy. I’d come home from work and dive into the shower to rinse off the grime and sweat. This air, while heavy, had a sweet and earthy smell like flowers blooming and tree bark. Nature’s perfume, untainted by exhaust and city waste.
My flip-flops slapped on the concrete sidewalk as I meandered past yellow homes and white homes and green homes. Not a single house on the block was the same color. Each had its own character and intricate details to set it apart from its neighbors. One owner had covered their lawn with garden gnomes. Another had painted the front door a perky teal.
This was the slowest I’d walked in years, soaking it all in.
Maybe someday I’d come back and see if this street was the same. I’d visit this place in the fall to see the leaves as they changed from green to red, orange and yellow. Maybe I’d see if Brooks Cohen was just as handsome then as he was now.
But I didn’t need to revisit Summers to satisfy that curiosity. Brooks was the type of man who only grew more handsome with age. I was guessing he was in his early thirties. His body was solid and even if it softened some, he’d always be drool-worthy. With a few gray streaks in his blond hair, he’d be irresistible.
I’d always had a thing for older men.
A shrink would probably chalk it up to daddy issues. I think it was because I’d grown up fast—too fast. Men my own age always seemed to lag behind.
Brooks wore his maturity with confidence. He put on no pretense. He was simply . . . himself. He didn’t seem defined by his occupation or his clothes. He was magnetic in a plain white T-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans.
That thin cotton T-shirt had stuck to Brooks when he’d rescued me on the side of the road. It had molded to his sturdy arms and rugged chest as he’d moved around the Cadillac. The muscles on his back were so well defined, I’d fought the urge to skim my fingertips down his shoulders just to feel the dents and contours under my skin.
A shiver ran down my spine.
He was a fantasy.
I didn’t let myself indulge in fantasies often. Hope was something I kept at a firm distance. Disappointment, on the other hand, was a close companion.
With Brooks, I let the fantasy play out. I was in Summers for a hot minute, not enough time for him to crush the illusion in those strong, firm hands.
God, I wanted those hands on me. My core clenched and my nipples hardened inside my bra. Was he married? I hadn’t seen a ring but maybe he didn’t wear one. Did he have a girlfriend?
I didn’t feel right lusting after another woman’s man, so in my fantasy, he was single unless and until disappointment reared its evil head and smothered this fantasy too.
Brooks had consumed my thoughts all night long. His T-shirt had been the star of my dreams, the way it would stretch as it was dragged up that sticky body. I’d slept with a pillow between my legs just for some friction to calm the ache.
“I need sex,” I muttered to myself.
I needed a good, hard fuck and a long, sweaty night. I needed an orgasm that didn’t come from my own fingers or the showerhead. I needed to have a man’s weight on top of me as he pressed me into a bed.
When was the last time I’d had sex in a bed?
More than a year. Thomas and I hadn’t had a great sex life at home. In the
office, we were great, but not at home. I should have known something was up when he always wanted to fuck me on his desk. Had he been picturing Secretary in my place?
Does it matter?
The truth was, Thomas and I hadn’t been in love. I’d respected him. I’d admired him. I’d adored him. But love? I wasn’t sure. Did I even know how it felt to be in love?
I’d thought so, but I was questioning everything these days. Could a woman who’d grown up without affection or care really know what it was to be in love?
Maybe I’d mistaken attention for love.
I was jonesing for some physical attention. A hookup would not go unappreciated. Maybe Brooks Cohen would do me a favor before I rolled out of town. If he wasn’t attached, he’d be the perfect candidate to break my dry spell.
In a goddamn bed.
My hunch was that Brooks was a considerate lover. A gentleman. He’d called me ma’am and tipped his invisible hat when he’d dropped me off at the motel. I was probably reading too much into it, but I sure would like to be with a man who knew a woman’s pleasure came first.
The street came to an end before I was ready to leave my West Virginian Narnia and I paused at the stop sign, tempted to walk it again. But the temperature was rising and I could use a cold glass of water, so I took a right and carried onward.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out walking. The phone Brooks had bought me was tucked into the pocket of my jean shorts, but on principle, I hadn’t turned it on.
I didn’t need a phone. I didn’t want a phone. But he’d worn me down.
Just the kind of man I am.
I wasn’t carrying this phone for me. I had it in my pocket for Brooks.
His simple explanation might not mean a lot for women who’d grown up with decent men in their lives. But for me, a good man was as elusive as presents on Christmas morning.
So I’d taken the phone and kept it close.
Brooks Cohen. Damn, I liked him. I liked the entire package, head to toe. Even his unique name gave me a shudder.
The one thing my parents had done right was to give me a cool name. My mother had named me Londyn after the city in England because she’d always wanted to visit there. The woman couldn’t spell for shit.