Page 42 of A Hard Habit to Break

“Nothing,” she chirped. And just in case he saw through the lie, she covered her restless legs with her sketch pad. Last night had changed their dynamic. No denying the obvious. Instead of running, she would make a stand unequivocally.

“Then tell your cute little face, Six.”

“Cute?” she asked. With her hair in a messy ponytail, an old long-sleeved T-shirt, and cargo pants with more years thanbuttons? The windows were down, the wind tangling her curls into abstract art.

“Yep,” he said, then pushed a button on his steering wheel.

Alan Jackson’s “Country Boy” blasted through the speakers.

“You’re kidding me,” she shouted over the music, smirking as Noah drummed the steering wheel with both hands. “This song is still on your playlist?”

He turned to grin at her, his eyes crinkling in that way that made her stomach flutter. “It’s a classic. This truck won’t run without it.”

“I remember when you tried to kiss me during that guitar solo.”

“I did kiss you.”

“Noah. You missed my mouth. You got my cheek and then apologized for three miles.”

“Only because you started doodling on a napkin to avoid looking at me.”

“I had a serious case of the nerves, okay?” she said, laughing, her cheeks warming.

“Same,” he admitted.

Noah possessed a cocky competence that quieted when no one was around. She’d loved how he was when it was just the two of them. Every love song on the radio seemed to apply to Noah, as if the artist had him as his inspiration. She glanced at the man behind the wheel, smiling. Those were good times.

Maybe it was the sunshine, the thrum of smooth tunes, or the fact that she hadn’t had sex in months, and Noah was her fantasy pick of partners, but Rachel leaned back in the passenger seat, one boot propped on the dash like she used to when she was sixteen and relaxed. Back then, she’d thought she was cooler than she was because she was Noah’s girl. The truck was newer now, but it still smelled like cedar and the crisp rushing water scent of Noah’s soap. It was annoyingly comforting.

“I used to love the drive out here,” she said softly. “Imagine this drive at sunrise if the new fire station were out here?”

Noah shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. Road connectivity matters in an emergency. Before a fire department is built, historical data is used to identify ‘hot spots,’ where most fire-related incidents have happened within the county. And I can tell ya’, for Service, it ain’t out here. The new facility will have rapid access up and down the mountain.”

“Wow. You’ve done your research.”

“Have to. Fire and EMS are evolving. There’ll come a time when most of our services—fire rescue, transport, medical care, with or without transport—will come with a fee. Fire departments of the future will have to generate revenue and stay in budget or risk being downsized.”

Rachel chuffed. “I reviewed your binder, Noah. If the previous year’s allocations are accurate, you’ll be fine. It’s the other services that are starved.”

Without looking in her direction, Noah hit his turn signal. “Are you suggesting fire and EMS are overfunded?”

Beside her, Noah looked relaxed, but the tick in his jaw said she’d lit a match. Sparks could fly if she projected the town leadership’s poor management onto him. “What I’m saying is housing, healthcare, and education are equally important. We should consider where the grant monies can do the most good for the most people. Not repeat the same mistakes out of habit.”

“Well, folks are in the habit of dialing 9-1-1 and having an immediate response. The most good starts with them not losing their homes, belongings, medications, or prescriptions to a senseless fire, Rachel.”

“Tacking my name at the end did nothing to improve your tone. Before you get upset, and mess around and find out that I will eat you for lunch”—she cut her eyes in his direction—“justdrive. I’d rather enjoy the romantic country road for myself than fight with you.” She added a belated. “Even though I’m right.”

“Brat,” Noah chuckled. “Don’t think you can take me.”

She coughed back a laugh, or tried, too. “Riiight, Lion King. Try it and I’ll pin you like Nala whipped up on Simba.”

He slowed as they reached a clearing, the lumberyard’s rust-stained sign just visible beyond the trees.

“Love to have you try.” His eyes flicked toward her before turning back to the road. “So, no dates on long country roads happening in San Diego?”

“Are you low-key changing the subject and asking if I’m involved with someone?”

“I’m losing my touch if you have to ask. Besides, any man who lets you go, even with a watchful plus one, is a fool.” He looked at her. This time, he pierced her with those eyes that once held her future. “I should know.”