The thing is, I like him, too, despite not really knowing him at all. Then again, maybe I just like the idea of having someone around my age to talk to.
Not to mention, Craig Connelly is very easy on the eyes.
So, when I asked Harold at the Chronicle where Connelly’s Auto was, and he chuckled while telling me it was only a hop, skip, and a jump away, pointing in the general direction, I’d headed right over, expecting Craig’s amusing banter and his own intriguing brand of sexiness.
But I never expected this. The man isn’t only sexy as he stands there in grease-stained jeans and a worn charcoal t-shirt with a motorcycle logo on it, he’s absolutely delectable. There’s a smudge of black across his cheekbone and his hands are filthy, too, but he exudes masculinity. A hardworking man who’s good with his hands.
He’s had my brain heading straight for the gutter since the moment I walked through the opened garage door, and after he cleaned up and changed his clothes to take me out on my tour, I had a hard time keeping my eyes off him. Craig even offered to drive me around instead of walking so we didn’t have to trudge through the rain, but I figured I’d already gotten soaked on the way here, and perhaps the cool raindrops would lower the temperature of my blood, boiling in my veins.
Now, we’re both walking down the sidewalk of Main Street, undoubtedly looking like a pair of drowned rats, but I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Craig is right, there isn’t much to show off when it comes to Cardon Springs. The locally owned grocery store and the café are side by side; no franchise businesses here. The post office is in the same building as the gas station with two pumps and a convenience store that is open until nine o’clock every night, and there’s a bank and a diner further down the street.
Craig is shoulder to shoulder with me as we bounce up the steps of the post office so he can grab his mail, and I steal the opportunity to hide under the eave while he ducks in and retrieves it. When he comes back out with a handful of flyers and envelopes, I’m wringing my hair out, a huge grin on my face.
“What’s so funny?” Craig asks, running his free hand through his hair.
“Did I really read that sign right when we walked by the diner?” I reply. “It’s only open until eight o’clock in the evening?”
He nods. “Yeah, that’s right. What’s so funny about that?”
“But it’s the only restaurant you’ve got here! What the heck do you guys do when everything shuts down by eight or nine at night?” I laugh.
Craig purses his lips, failing to suppress the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth, and gives me a sideways glance. “We don’t need nightclubs and bars to keep ourselves entertained, city girl.” He leans in, letting his tongue run across his bottom lip before he whispers, “I can think of a few ways to spend an evening after everything shuts down, Meg.”
I gasp as his breath caresses across my cheek, hot and damp. Heat floods my cheeks, and my heart bangs against my ribcage. My body is completely in tune with him, crying out for the promise in his innuendo, to experience fully exactly what he might be referring to. My mind is just as keen, but at least it’s holding on by a thread, keeping me from saying or doing something I might regret later.
I’ve just about regained my composure when I realize that Craig is still dangerously close, his gaze fixed on my lips, only inches from his. There’s no way he couldn’t have heard me gasp, and judging by how flushed my face is, he knows damn well he’s affecting me.
“W-we should go,” I whisper suddenly. “You probably need to pick up your son, and I don’t want to keep you.”
Just like that, the moment is shattered and I can breathe again as he moves away from me. “Right. I’ve actually got another appointment coming in before I’m done for the day, then I can pick up Ellis. But I’ll walk you back to the Chronicle, seeing as it’s on the way to my shop.”
The awkwardness hangs between us like a veil. I’m not sure what I feel worse about—freaking out because I thought he might kiss me, or mentioning his son in order to do it. “Ellis,” I say softly. “That’s a cool name for your little boy.”
Craig gives me a halfhearted smile, wiping raindrops out of his eyes. “He’s named after his mama. Her name was Ella.”
“Was?” The word topples from my lips before I have time to think it through. But Craig answers just as quickly, and I see his throat move in my peripheral vision.
“She passed away just after having Ellis. She’d been in a car accident.”
My stomach plummets. Acid rises in my throat, from the guilt of knowing I had initially assumed that he had a crazy ex and a load of personal drama. “I’m so sorry, Craig,” I tell him, meaning it. “I had no idea.”
“It’s okay, only a few people really do.”
I can hear the heartbreak in his voice. He cared for Ella a lot. “Aunt Nancy?”
“She’s a good listener,” he says with a sad smile. “Yeah, Nancy knows.”
“And she never said anything.” I’m speaking mostly to myself when I say it, but Craig’s hand suddenly encircles my wrist, stopping me in my tracks and bringing me out of my own thoughts.
“Nancy’s a good listener,” he repeats. “She’s also a good secret keeper. She knows me, and she knows I don’t tell people about my personal life unless I want them to know. Your aunt is a good person, Megan, so don’t be too hard on her for not telling you, okay?”
There’s something different in the way Craig speaks to me, in the way his fingers are holding me in place with only the slightest pressure. All I can do is nod, too struck by the way he’s staring into my eyes to form sentences.
“Okay, let’s get you out of the rain.” He releases my wrist and places his hand on the small of my back only long enough to get me walking again. Hands shoved in his pockets, he tries to change the subject. “What’s your story, Megan? From city girl to small town journalist. That’s quite the switch.”
It feels like a punch in the gut to hear it said that way, so nonchalantly, but it’s also refreshing. Seeing as my parents have been walking on eggshells around me for almost a week, too afraid and uncertain about how I’ll react if they mention it to say anything even remotely reassuring. “Honestly? Things in Dallas were good—great, in fact—until they weren’t. I had a really good job. A dream job for any new journalist. I was damn lucky to get the position straight out of university.”
“So, what happened?” Craig is stealing glances at me, shifting his gaze from the sidewalk in front of us to me sporadically.