“I guess not . . .” It was hard not to be skeptical. He was just acting . . . weird. But she was too tired to fight with him anymore. He shadowed her to the back of the large gravel lot, where her truck was waiting. She put her keys in the lock, but he stopped her with a hand to her arm.
“Your car door isn’t closed all the way. Check inside, make sure there’s nobody in there.”
Ainsley chuckled. “It just doesn’t work right. I think I slammed my seat belt in it one too many times.”
“You should get it fixed.”
She peered at him. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t work right?”
“Don’t have the money for aesthetic fixes right now. The ‘check engine’ light keeps me plenty busy.” She climbed up into the driver’s seat, tossing her bag onto the other seat, slamming the door behind her. Kyle knocked at the window. Was their conversation not over?
Amused, she rolled down the window. “Yes?”
“It’s more than just aesthetic, it’s dangerous. If I had a screwdriver, I could pry that thing open in two seconds flat.” His high cheekbones and broody eyes were doing things to her in the dark. Ainsley had the sudden desire to kiss him—just to shut him up, of course.
“And someone in town would see wherever you parked it and call me to come get it. Next objection?”
“What if it comes flying open on the highway?”
“I always wear my seat belt, Dr. Durand.”
“That’s not the point, Ms. Buchanan.”
She leaned forward, dangerously close to him now. “And what is the point?”
Oblivious to her interest in his lips, he turned and bumped the door with his hip, then pushed on it. Kyle lowered his shoulder and slammed himself against the door, which finally clicked shut completely. Then he opened it and began to examine the hinges. She pretended that his show of strength hadn’t impressed her.
“Hey. Nosy McGee. Please close my door, I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“Are you getting married?” He held her door open, his arms bracing his large body between it and the rest of the car, his gaze still focused on the machinery.
Ainsley felt her eyelids fluttering rapidly as she tried to process his nonsensical question. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was curious if you were getting married. Cooper mentioned something about it a while back . . .”
She was still shocked speechless. Why would Kyle Awesome Durand care if I’m getting married? Her heart rate sped up as she considered the possible answers to that question, none of them simple.
“No,” she finally choked out. “I’m not. I’m not even dating anyone.”
Kyle straightened, nodding, rubbing his hands together, which did nothing to remove the grease that was now on his fingertips from poking around in her car.
“Okay.” He closed her door hard, then bumped it closed with his shoulder.
“Okay,” Ainsley echoed vacantly, starting her car. What is happening?
“So I’ll see you tomorrow? Seven?”
“Okay.” It seemed to be the word of the day. She felt like an idiot just nodding, staring at his handsome face. Drive away, Ainsley. Put the car in drive. She fumbled for the gear shift.
“Drive safe,” he called, giving her a little wave.
“Yes, you too. Walk . . . safe.”
This man is going to be the death of me, she thought as she pulled away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KYLE PULLED UP IN FRONT of Ainsley’s apartment building at precisely 6:50. He figured ten minutes was more than enough time to get three people loaded into the car. What he’d forgotten was that when Ainsley was one of those people, ten minutes was not nearly sufficient.
To her credit, she was dressed when she answered the door, and Bilqiis and Fawzia had already arrived.
“Coffee,” she blurted, rubbing her eyes. Her blonde locks were still very askew, and he thought to himself that if this was how she looked when she first woke up in the morning, he wouldn’t mind waking up next to her from now on.
“We’ll drive through. Come on.”
“Got stuff,” she said, pointing to a large pile of striped beach towels, plastic buckets and shovels, a kite, and what appeared to be some kind of tent.
“Oh good. Let’s get this stuff to the car; has everyone used the bathroom? I’d prefer not to stop until we get to Lincoln City.” He pivoted to see Ainsley’s face. “That’s where we’re going, correct?”
She nodded, then stood there, still nodding, looking around like she wasn’t sure where she was.
“Did you run out of coffee?”
She nodded again, then whimpered so pitifully, Kyle just wanted to hold her.
“Okay. Go get in the car, Ains. We can get this stuff. Then we’ll get you your coffee. Cuppa Joe.”
She smiled, and he remembered why he was doing this. Phase Three: Win Ainsley’s Heart. Now that he knew she was single, he anticipated he would be in this phase a long time. He hoped so, anyway. Kyle gathered up all the stuff he could, and Bilqiis and Fawzia got the rest. It appeared Ainsley had packed lunches for all of them, and he hoped it wasn’t something he hated. She was a pretty good cook; her brownies were his favorite.
“You can sit in the front, Bilqiis,” he offered as he popped the trunk of his minivan. He really wanted to sit next to Ainsley, but he figured the most senior adult in the car should be offered the best seat first.
“Oh, no, thank you. I will sit with Fawzia. I want to see her face when she sees the ocean. I don’t think she remembers.” Ainsley was giving the other woman a funny look, and he wondered briefly if he was missing something. Whatever.
“Seat belts, everybody.”
Once they got Ainsley her coffee, she perked right up. He’d brought an audiobook, fearing awkward silence in the car for two hours. What he’d forgotten was that Ainsley could entertain a slug, just by virtue of being herself.
“Let’s see, I’ve got G. Hi, my name is Gertrude, my husband’s name is Grant. We come from Georgetown, and we sell grapefruit.”
“Grapefruit don’t grow in Georgetown,” replied Kyle.
“I didn’t say they did.” She grinned. “I said we sold them in Georgetown. We import.”
“This is a weird game.”
“Hush, driver. Your turn, Bilqiis.”
She cleared her throat. “Hi, my name is Habeekah, my husband’s name is Haamid. We come from Hargeysa, and we sell horses.”
“Ooh, good one, Hooyo!” Fawzia exclaimed, and she and Ainsley both applauded.
“Kyle’s turn,” Ainsley sang, “and you’ve got I.”
He groaned. “The only letters harder than I are Q and Z.”
“Not true,” said Bilqiis. “Just sell qatayef and zaatar spice.”
Kyle smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Maybe I will. Okay, I? Hi, my name is Ivan, my wife’s name is Irene. We come from Iceland, and we sell ice.”
“Iceland is very green, you know,” Ainsley teased, sipping her coffee.
“Yes, I know. But you threw logic out the window when you told me you sold grapefruit in Georgetown. Next.”