And the waydirtyjust rolls from his lips.
In the local dialect, I’d say… Lawd, have mercy.
Cringing inwardly at the flour-caked, clammy texture of my hand in his, I let him help me into the truck, but he either doesn’t notice my nerves or he’s too polite to point them out. Once he makes sure I’m settled, he climbs in with far more grace than me.
Which is ironic, seeing as I’m a celestial being.
“So, what brings you into town?” The deep roar of the engine shakes the floorboard beneath my feet, and he shoots me an adorable smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, she’s loud.”
“Your truck is a ‘she?’”
“All vehicles are women!” Even knowing how ridiculous I look right now, I hike a flour-coated sarcastic eyebrow, a few stray white particles snowing from my eyelashes.
“Hmm… if you say so, but if you ask me? Big, beefy, and loud? Takes up way too much space? Sweetheart, if this truck had legs, it would be manspreading in every chair in town.”
A hearty, booming laugh explodes out of him, the sound so delighted that it makes me giggle along with him. “Yeah…” he says between chuckles, scratching at his beard. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Now, if you like your women to be Amazonian tall and rumbly, I’m not one to judge you for that. Although... there's a question I have to ask, and I need you to know up front that I'll be judging your answer.”
“Oh? I'm not sure if I'm excited or terrified.” Still grinning, he glances at me from the corner of his eye.
“Please tell me you don’t have those metal balls hanging from the hitch? Because, if so… just pull over and let me out. My reputation couldn’t take the hit at this point.”
He laughs louder, and I’m grinning from ear to ear, immensely pleased with myself. “No truck nuts,” he confirms, and I make a dramatic show of my relief. “You never said what you were doing in town.”
My absolute shitshow of a poker face means my eyes are as wide as plates as I cough. “Oh, um, Tourette’s,” I blurt, and his brows slam together. “My, uh, cousin has Tourette syndrome and, er, needed help getting her house? Ready? For the physical therapy.”
“They have physical therapy for Tourette’s?”
“Oh yeah, lots of… um, mouth exercises and… stretching.”
“Mouth… exercises?”
“Yeah, to help… control… the… oh, wow, look at the trees!” Far too loud, I point as I try to distract him.
Amusement and confusion warp his smile into something strained as he scratches his chin. “That’s… yep, that’s the woods, and they all kinda look the same.”
“There aren’t a lot of woods where I come from.” Absently, I stare off into the endless green as he turns onto a gravel road.
“Where’s that?”
“Hmm?”
“Where are you from?”
“Oh, uh… north. Way, way north.” Pretty much as farnorthas one could get, if we’re pointing straight up into the sky.
“And no forests? Last time I visited my aunt in Maine, there were trees everywhere.” God, leaving with him was such a terrible idea. I need a full week to develop a cover story that makes any sense.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, just not where I am… is this you?” The car slows as he taps the brakes, and I’m relieved as he pulls into a long driveway. In the heart of the trees, a cabin-style house stands alone, the treated wood a stark contrast to the vibrant green surrounding it. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of land.”
“A few acres,” he says with a shrug. “Around here, it’s not that much, but it gives me privacy.”
Flour stamps a print of my face on the glass as I shove it against the window. “Are those… goats?!” Large animals with floppy ears prance behind a fence, most of them covered in spots.
“Nubians,” he says, and I can hear his grin.
“Can I pet them?”
