“Good morning,” he said, stopping by his truck and leaning against it.
“Good morning,” she said.
She didn’t look at him.
“Better get a move on,” he said.
“Let me get coffee,” she said. She picked up her bag and began to walk to her truck.
“We’re not taking that,” he said.
She looked over at the big green beast. “Why not?”
“Because it’s a piece of shit.”
“Your truck’s a piece of shit,” she said.
“No, it’s not. My truck is great. Yours is a hand-me-down of the hand-me-down that went through your brothers before it went to you, and I don’t want to drive a long distance in it.”
“It’s how I got here.”
“Yeah, but it’s not how I’m getting there.”
“You’re a dick,” she said, picking up her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder and walking down the stairs.
He grabbed it up off the top of her shoulder and pulled it out of her grasping, angry fingers as she tried to follow the path of it upward over his shoulder.
“Such a dick,” he said, hefting it up and wandering over to his truck.
Callie’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and she stomped over to his vehicle.
“Knock it off,” she said, getting in the passenger side and shutting the door.
“Thought you wanted coffee,” he said, poking his head through the driver’s side.
“You can buy me one on the road.”
“Anything for my darling wife.”
There was that word again. He had to be careful using it. Even as a joke. Especially as a joke, because that was when it came around to bite him in the ass.
He did his best not to linger. Not to look at her face. Not to remind himself of what had happened the night before. He got in his side of the truck and started the engine.
“All right. One word.”
“I was promised awkward silence,” she said, staring straight ahead. And that was when he found he couldn’t help himself. He found he had to stare. Her nose was just perfect. A little slope, her lips full and inviting. And he’d had a taste of them. She was glorious. All strung out and wired like a filly that hadn’t been broken in yet. But warm like the summer sunshine. Sweet like the smell of grass and hay. So many of his favorite things rolled all into one package.
Good thing he was an experienced man who’d had a lot of sex, or thinking of her that way might get him hard. In the cab of his truck. And nobody wanted that. Least of all him.
He reminded himself repeatedly as he fought against his body’s natural response.
“Well, you’re going to have to give me your coffee order before you get your awkward silence,” he said.
“A mocha.”
“A mocha,” he repeated. “Cal, I didn’t take you for a sweet drink kind of girl.”
“Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes.
That was the problem. There was a lot he didn’t know about her. And he thought against listing the things. The way her bare skin looked against his sheets being one of them.
He drove a little faster on the road that led into town, and parked his truck in front of Sugar Cup.
“After you,” he said when he killed the engine.
“Not going to open the door for me? Have I gone to the level of a buckle bunny now that your tongue’s been in my mouth?”
“You’re a brat,” he said. “Do you know that?”
“Yep.”
She got out of the truck and headed toward the coffeehouse, and he got out, slammed his door and followed behind her. They went inside, and he could see the moment that Callie’s anger faded a little bit as she took in the atmosphere of the coffeehouse. The roughhewn wood floor, the exposed brick walls and the glory of the chandelier that hung in the center of the place. All a bit of hipster nonsense for his taste, but he could tell that she was charmed. And he took a small amount of satisfaction in that, because he knew she was trying to be angry. So any sort of charm—even if it didn’t come from him—felt like a victory in his corner.
“I’ll have just a black coffee,” he said, walking up to the counter and making his order a greeting to the sullen-looking girl behind the register. “My wife would like a mocha.”
He could practically see a plume of smoke erupt over Callie’s head.
“We’re newlyweds,” he said, grinning.
“Congratulations,” the girl said, not smiling.
“Thank you,” he said, intentionally using an overly bright tone. “We’re going back to her parents’ place for the holidays.”
“I’m sure that’s very romantic.”
The whole performance would’ve been more fun if he would have had someone at the register who actually cared to make small talk. But still, it was making Callie angry, and as long as that was working, he was enjoying himself.
Why exactly?
He didn’t know. Except that she had kissed him. And it felt like a violation of a great many things. She was acting like she had punched her own face, and blamed him. That was the problem. So really, if he could make her mad, or happy against her will, he would take it. Because he was mad. Pissed off. He had gone years wanting to kiss her, and not doing it. She had blown all that to hell. She had proven the thing that he had never wanted proven, which was that they had chemistry. And if she was a little ruffled by it so be it.
Actually, he would really like it if she was a lot ruffled by it.
When their drinks came out, he turned to her and smiled felicitously. “Here you go, sweetheart.” He handed her the drink and gave her his best grin.
And the way she looked at him wasn’t all that fun. Because her cheeks went pink, and her eyes went wide, and there was nothing like a performance in the few seconds that passed between them then. Instead, he felt something that arced through him like an electrical current that passed through the air and went straight down his spine. And he didn’t the hell like it.
“Let’s go,” he said, taking his own drink and putting his hand on her back, propelling her out of the room.
“Knock it off,” she said when they got outside. She shook away from his hold, and got in the truck.
And they went ahead and embraced that awkward silence from then on until they were out on the highway, driving the long, winding route from Northwestern Oregon to Eastern Oregon. It was a nice drive. He couldn’t complain.