Renata and the Fall from Grace

by Becky Doughty

  Trevor gave the gas pedal a few pumps, rotated the key the rest of the way in the ignition, and the trusty little Jeep coughed, spluttered, and started up without any further ado. He left it running and hopped out, holding a hand out to help her up into the driver’s seat. “Your carriage awaits,” he murmured, and bowed over her hand before releasing it.

  And with that, he circled the hood of her car and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Saluting her, he said, “You’re good to go. I know you said you were running late already, but you should probably fill that tank soon. Two gallons won’t get you far.”

  “Wait,” Phoebe said, stopping him before he walked away. “I’m heading right to the gas station. Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” This time, he was the one who hesitated. She laughed out loud, letting her head fall back against the seat. “Are you serious? Do you think I’ll kidnap you or something?”

  He made a pretense of hemming and hawing, shuffling his feet and cupping his chin, his eyes shining with humor. “The thought had crossed my mind, you know.”

  Phoebe mimicked his words from earlier. “Scout’s honor. I won’t steal your virtue. Come on. Before I run out of gas waiting for you to make up your mind.” She held up the small ring of keys he’d given her. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll get very far without these.”

  He climbed in and buckled his seatbelt, taking his keys from her. His fingers brushed the palm of her hand and a pleasant tingle raced up her arm. “You drive a hard bargain, lady. But thanks. I’m actually running late, too. I was on my way to meet a friend, but for some reason, I felt compelled to pull into the gas station to top off my tank.”

  The way he said it made Phoebe sit up a little straighter. “For some reason?” she asked, wondering too late if she really wanted clarification.

  “Yeah. Just had an inclination that I needed to stop. So I did, and there you were, needing my help.” He tapped the side of his face just in front of his ear. “Pays to listen.”

  Before Phoebe could come up with a suitable response—and quite honestly, she didn’t have any clue how to respond to that—they were pulling up to the same pump where they’d first crossed paths. Trevor leaped out, waited while Phoebe paid, but refused to let her pump her own gas. The conversation stuttered a little, Phoebe waiting for the guy to make his move; ask her out, ask for her number, anything.

  But he didn’t. He just kept smiling in a pleasant way, obviously completely at ease with silence.

  Phoebe, on the other hand, resisted the urge to fill the void with invitation-ladened small talk. If he wasn’t interested, she wasn’t going to twist his arm. There was nothing more pitiful than a woman who couldn’t take a hint.

  When he was through filling the tank, she thanked him again, but took extra care not to overdo it. Just because she felt like she owed him more, he didn’t need to know that.

  Once again, he stood back and saluted her, then watched until she’d pulled out onto the street. She glanced over her shoulder to see him climbing on his bike, helmet on, no jacket. He had a rather lovely back—she couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like on the cover of a romance novel. The sound of his motorcycle roaring to life made her smile; it was so loud, so in-your-face. She kinda liked it.

  The rumble didn’t fade the farther she got from the gas station. She peered up into her rear view mirror and was both startled and pleased to see him following her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Keep reading Phoebe’s story in…

  PHOEBE & THE ROCK OF AGES

  The Gustafson Girls Book 3

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