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Authors: Lucy Lambert
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but its tree-lined path.
Maybe it was all a joke , I thought. Maybe Owen wanted to know if I would fall for it. While part of me wanted to believe that, the cynical part that said his type were all the same, the rest of me couldn't believe it. He wouldn't do that. Would he?
"Should I take you back to the campus?"
I walked over to the gate, grabbed the metal tube of its upper arm, and gave it a tug. Locked. The whole thing clanked in my grip, moving an inch forward or backward but not opening.
The smooth stainless steel warmed quickly against my palms and I shook it again, thinking that maybe Owen wanted me to come down this road and if I could just get it open I could go farther. It stayed locked, though.
Disappointment weighed down on me, heavy in my stomach. I should have been glad to be proven right about him, but I wasn't.
"Maybe it's the wrong address?" I said, wondering why I bothered trying to justify him.
The driver leaned over and grabbed the paper from its resting place on the passenger seat. He pulled his glasses down and looked at it again, then scrutinized the GPS screen. "Only if you gave me the wrong address. This is the place."
I didn't want to spend all day standing out here, so I decided to go back. Then I heard the distinct sound of gravel crunching beneath tires. A jolt of excitement shot up the front of my stomach.
Soon a plume of dirt appeared on the dirt road, a Jeep materializing from the dusty cloud. It pulled up short of the gate and Owen stepped out from the driver's seat.
He looked ready to go for a hike. A pair of sturdy boots of his own on, khaki pants with a plain collared shirt tucked into them. He was trim, his shoulders and waist forming a pleasant V that made me want to learn what was going on under that shirt.
That thought brought some color to my cheeks, and I turned away, pretending I hadn't experienced that jolt of delight at his finally showing up.
"You're late," I said.
"I don't think so," he said. He came and unlocked the gate, swinging it open. It swung inward, and I realized that was why he'd stopped short, so he wouldn't hit the Jeep.
He was familiar with this place, then. Been here before enough to know about the gate. But what was so special about it? It just looked like a bunch of trees to me.
"I'll wait for you here," the driver said.
"You won't need to," Owen said.
The driver ignored him, waiting for me to give him some instruction. I considered. It would be another little act of defiance to have the driver wait.
But I didn't know how long we might be. And I didn't want to be so cruel so as to make the man sit out here in the sun for who knew how many hours. He didn't deserve that. He had been kind to me, showing concern. That didn't deserve meanness in return.
"I'll be fine, really. You can head back to campus. Thanks again for the ride, I appreciate it."
He watched us through the open window, his eyes inscrutable behind his reflective sunglasses. Finally he nodded. "Very well, ma'am. Don't hesitate to call if you do need a pick up."
"I won't," I said.
"She won't need one," Owen said at the same time.
We watched the sleek black Town Car, the trees reflecting in its glossy paint, pull a three-point turn and head back down the road. "A bit presumptuous, aren't we?"
"Not at all," he said. Then he went back to the Jeep and opened the passenger door for me. I sat down in the bucket seat and he closed the door as well. I admired him for a few moments while he rounded the hood, watching the interplay of muscles beneath his shirt.
Control yourself , I thought. This was nothing more than a diversion. Nothing more than filling an idle morning.
I tried not to think about how I still had a paper to write, a lecture to prepare for. Or about how nice a figure Owen cut no matter what he wore.
He sat down and pulled his door shut. Then I noticed that the Jeep had a third pedal and a stick shift. He shoved the clutch in and cranked the engine.
"You drive stick?" I
Maybe it was all a joke , I thought. Maybe Owen wanted to know if I would fall for it. While part of me wanted to believe that, the cynical part that said his type were all the same, the rest of me couldn't believe it. He wouldn't do that. Would he?
"Should I take you back to the campus?"
I walked over to the gate, grabbed the metal tube of its upper arm, and gave it a tug. Locked. The whole thing clanked in my grip, moving an inch forward or backward but not opening.
The smooth stainless steel warmed quickly against my palms and I shook it again, thinking that maybe Owen wanted me to come down this road and if I could just get it open I could go farther. It stayed locked, though.
Disappointment weighed down on me, heavy in my stomach. I should have been glad to be proven right about him, but I wasn't.
"Maybe it's the wrong address?" I said, wondering why I bothered trying to justify him.
The driver leaned over and grabbed the paper from its resting place on the passenger seat. He pulled his glasses down and looked at it again, then scrutinized the GPS screen. "Only if you gave me the wrong address. This is the place."
I didn't want to spend all day standing out here, so I decided to go back. Then I heard the distinct sound of gravel crunching beneath tires. A jolt of excitement shot up the front of my stomach.
Soon a plume of dirt appeared on the dirt road, a Jeep materializing from the dusty cloud. It pulled up short of the gate and Owen stepped out from the driver's seat.
He looked ready to go for a hike. A pair of sturdy boots of his own on, khaki pants with a plain collared shirt tucked into them. He was trim, his shoulders and waist forming a pleasant V that made me want to learn what was going on under that shirt.
That thought brought some color to my cheeks, and I turned away, pretending I hadn't experienced that jolt of delight at his finally showing up.
"You're late," I said.
"I don't think so," he said. He came and unlocked the gate, swinging it open. It swung inward, and I realized that was why he'd stopped short, so he wouldn't hit the Jeep.
He was familiar with this place, then. Been here before enough to know about the gate. But what was so special about it? It just looked like a bunch of trees to me.
"I'll wait for you here," the driver said.
"You won't need to," Owen said.
The driver ignored him, waiting for me to give him some instruction. I considered. It would be another little act of defiance to have the driver wait.
But I didn't know how long we might be. And I didn't want to be so cruel so as to make the man sit out here in the sun for who knew how many hours. He didn't deserve that. He had been kind to me, showing concern. That didn't deserve meanness in return.
"I'll be fine, really. You can head back to campus. Thanks again for the ride, I appreciate it."
He watched us through the open window, his eyes inscrutable behind his reflective sunglasses. Finally he nodded. "Very well, ma'am. Don't hesitate to call if you do need a pick up."
"I won't," I said.
"She won't need one," Owen said at the same time.
We watched the sleek black Town Car, the trees reflecting in its glossy paint, pull a three-point turn and head back down the road. "A bit presumptuous, aren't we?"
"Not at all," he said. Then he went back to the Jeep and opened the passenger door for me. I sat down in the bucket seat and he closed the door as well. I admired him for a few moments while he rounded the hood, watching the interplay of muscles beneath his shirt.
Control yourself , I thought. This was nothing more than a diversion. Nothing more than filling an idle morning.
I tried not to think about how I still had a paper to write, a lecture to prepare for. Or about how nice a figure Owen cut no matter what he wore.
He sat down and pulled his door shut. Then I noticed that the Jeep had a third pedal and a stick shift. He shoved the clutch in and cranked the engine.
"You drive stick?" I
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