Since his phone was out of reach, Zoey tossed a package of crackers at his head.
“Jerk.”
“Did she end up barefoot in Derek’s kitchen?”
“No, she ended up with a college scholarship to the Ohio State vet program.”
“What about you?”
Zoey hesitated, then added in a quieter voice, “I ended up waiting tables on the night shift at the Mudgeton truck stop. Twenty thousand cups of coffee later, I had enough tip money to come here.”
“You think I’m going to judge you because you didn’t go to college?”
Zoey gave him an awkward shrug. “Some people do. Most everyone made it out of Mudgeton. I made it to the highway and stopped.”
“Do you know what I studied in college?”
“It’s definitely not business management,” Zoey teased. “You’re terrible at it.”
“The worst.” No arguments there from him. “I studied how to get kicked out of art school.”
“Too much partying?”
“I wish. I worked my heart out, but I wasn’t good enough. It was either change majors or limp home with my tail between my legs, so I took the money I would have spent on the rest of an art degree and opened the Tourist Trap. I didn’t want my parents and grandparents feeling like I wasted the money they worked so hard to save up to send me to school.”
“They must be proud of you.” Zoey nudged his stomach with her toe. “You’ve done so well.”
“Have I?” he wondered quietly. “I’m not so sure sometimes.”
Leaning over, he brushed the hair from her eyes, those same tendrils that always got stuck in between her nose and her glasses. Finally letting his gaze drift over her features, Graham didn’t try to hide how mesmerized he was by her.
“I should have kissed you in the ice cave,” he murmured.
“Mmm. You should have kissed me on the boat.”
“Yeah, but that would have been a cliché.” His lips curved with affection for this woman, an affection he never expected to have. “Pretty much the same as a first kiss in the bed of a guy’s pickup truck.”
“First kiss? I remember a kiss on the beach, mister.”
“You kissed me. I didn’t kiss you. And upside down first kisses don’t count. We could work on that if you were interested.” Graham waited patiently, giving her the chance to decide what she wanted. When she scooted in, his breath caught in his chest, his stomach tightening.
“Oh really?”
Lips mere centimeters from hers, he nodded. “Really.”
“Did you ever see Lady and the Tramp?”
“I’m not rolling a Hot Pocket toward you with my nose,” Graham said, voice husky with desire. “My nose isn’t clean.”
“You’re not making the best case for yourself,” Zoey observed, but her eyes had started to close as she leaned into his touch.
“I’ll work on making a better one.”
“Oh, look! Graham, I think I can see—”
Then he kissed her, beneath what wasn’t even a hint of the northern lights, threading his fingers into her hair and drawing her close.
Slender hands traced up his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his racing heart. This one had stolen his heart: hook, line, and sinker.
“You taste like Hot Pockets.”
Smiling against her lips, Graham kissed her again. He’d take whatever advantage he could get.
* * *
They’d eaten her picnic and listened to a bubbling brook until Graham’s bladder protested the torture. But he wouldn’t have moved for anything, not with Zoey leaning against his chest, curled up in his arms as they stared up at the sky. One kiss had turned to two, then to more, but he almost liked this most. Having her resting against him, a quiet companion drinking in the beauty of the place he loved.
“You know, Zoey,” he murmured into her ear. “There’s a scene in The Last of the Mohicans where—”
“Book or movie?”
“Does it matter?”
Zoey nodded emphatically. “It definitely matters.”
“Movie. I couldn’t make it through the book. Too boring.”
“You don’t stop reading a classic because it’s boring,” she argued.
“Maybe you don’t stop reading a classic because it’s boring. I do it all the time.”
“Was there a point?”
“I’m getting to it.” Inhaling the scent of her hair, Graham rested his chin against her shoulder, then placed a single kiss to the side of her neck. “There’s this scene in The Last of the Mohicans.”
“Is it a good scene?”
“It’s the best scene. They’re sitting like this, and he’s holding her, like this.” Graham wrapped his arm across her chest, his hand covering her stomach. “And then she’s dramatically craning her head off to the side while he stares into the distance.”
“Like this?” Giggling, Zoey tried to stretch her neck out, head tipped.
“Almost, but I think there was more postcoital, heaving bosom action.”
She heaved as best she could.
Graham squeezed her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. “Good try, but you look like you’re having an asthma attack.”
“No, I’m sexy. I promise.”
She was more than sexy. She was perfect. And like a bad karaoke song with interpretive dance, she was one hundred percent real.
“Hey, Zoey? How many more days?”
“Seven,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his own. Graham held her tighter, and when her smile slipped, he found it again with soft kisses and gentle teasing. But inside, Graham knew the truth, and he knew why this was a terrible idea.
A week would never be enough.
Chapter 12
The line for the Tourist Trap started early. Zoey knew Graham didn’t open for lunch until eleven, but when she drove through town at half after ten, she couldn’t resist going past.
To her shock, the line was a solid twenty people deep already. Zoey parked behind the building next to Graham’s truck because there wasn’t much room in the parking lot, then she pulled out her phone. Fiddling with it to try to get at least one bar of reception, Zoey stood in the back of a growing line. On the third attempt, her call finally went through.