Page 109 of What We Break
"You look very outdoorsy," he says grinning, handing me the coffee.
The heat seeps into my fingers. And then he smiles at me like I'm the best thing he's seen all week and I forget to be mad about the early wake up. He leans in and kisses me. Sugar glaze and too much caffeine. I saw him two days ago but it feels like weeks.
"Seriously, thank you for this," he says, still close enough that his breath lands warm on my face. "There's going to be some help onsite,but Blake was going to try to do it with just the two of us, and his shoulder's been giving him trouble. I'd rather not watch him blow it out trying to be a hero."
Such a sweet man. "I assume Blake is thrilled about me tagging along?"
I glance at the driver's side. The windows are tinted, but I swear the mood is radiating through the glass like its own weather system. What made him like that? Is it just losing Jared? I know he was in a different unit from Reid. I can't even imagine what he saw. What he did. So I'm not going to be the one who judges him too harshly. Not today, anyway.
But seriously, he's kind of a downer most of the time. But Reid loves him, and it's obvious that Blake feels the same way about Reid. So I'm going to keep trying. Because what I have with Reid is worth it.
I nod my head to the truck and Reid makes a face. "He's... focused. He gets like this on install days. The piece has been in his workshop for three months. It's a big deal." He shrugs. "Just ignore the growling. He doesn't bite."
"Mostly?"
"Mostly." He grins and opens the front door. "I'll take the back seat. You get shotgun—better view, more legroom."
"Reid, I can sit in the back. Your legs are way longer than mine."
"Nope. You're the guest of honor. Get in."
I climb up into the cab, laughing when I get a cheeky pat on the butt. I turn back to glare at him, and he stares up at the sky, whistling. Such a goof.
It's warm inside, and it smells like leather and sawdust and old coffee—Blake's world in three scents. The seats are worn but clean, and there's a travel thermos in the cupholder that's seen better days.
Blake is behind the wheel, staring straight ahead. He's wearing a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. His hands are at ten and two, and he's got that coiled stillness thing going on again.
"Morning," I say, pulling on my seatbelt.
Blake glances over. His eyes move from my boots to my jeans to myface—quick, assessing. Probably trying to figure out if I'm going to be dead weight.
"You bring gloves?" he asks. His voice is low and rough, like he hasn't talked to anyone yet today.
"In my bag."
"Good." He nods once. "Don't touch any of the finished surfaces with bare hands. Oils from your skin will cloud the wax."
"Got it."
He puts the truck in gear, then pauses. Looks at me again.
"Thanks for coming," he says. It sounds like it costs him to say it. "Tony puking his guts out put me in a bind."
"How rude of him, huh?"
"Yep." The corner of his lip twitches in an almost smile. He pulls the truck into traffic, smooth and easy, all capable broody man behind the wheel.
"Okay!" Reid leans forward between the front seats, practically vibrating with energy. "Road trip rules. Driver picks the speed, passenger picks the snacks—" he drops a plastic bag into my lap that's full of gas station junk food, "—and I pick the music, because Blake's playlist is two hours of sad violin music."
"It's classical," Blake says. "It's calming."
"It makes me want to open the door and tuck and roll," Reid says. He's already plugging his phone into the aux cord. "We're doing 90s jams. Non-negotiable."
The opening bass line of "Tubthumping" blasts through the speakers.
Blake's jaw tightens. His knuckles go white on the wheel. Then very slowly, he reaches over and turns it down to bearable levels. Was the man blasting classical music on the way here?
I hide my smile behind the coffee cup. I can totally picture it. Big tough Blake riding through town in his big truck blastingFlight of the Bumblebee."So," I say, raising my voice over Chumbawamba, "Sunriver. That's what, two hours?"
