Taylor pushes his lips forward. “I think Sophia has some strong opinions about the wedding bands.”
“I know, I just thought if you wanted them to be custom, I’d love to help.”
“I’ll let her know, but don’t hold your breath, Ava. You know how Sophia is. And she’ll want the band to match her engagement ring. In both quality and quantity.”
I try not take it personally, and instead offer him a fake smile. This is not about me. This is so not about me. This is about what they want. On their hands for the rest of their lives.
“How would you help with the rings?” Samson asks.
This is the most I’ve heard him say all night. I watched him during dinner, because how could I not? He is seriously the hottest man I’ve ever seen. And I don’t think he smiled or engaged in small talk even once. If I was to sum him up in two words I might use steak and potatoes. Or not necessary. Or perhaps, strong silent type. So, that’s three. You get the point.
“I’m a jewelry designer.” I shrug, mostly because no one in my family actually takes my designs seriously. Setting up an Etsy shop didn’t give my parents a reason to believe my fine arts degree from Berkeley was worth it. So, I’m not holding my breath that this man who lives alone is the woods is going to care about custom wedding rings either.
Jokes on them, because my rings are fucking amazing.
They just don’t understand.
“Do you work with stones?”
“I do. I know people say diamonds are girl’s best friends, but I like more precious gemstones... Ones that are more unique.”
“And you use gold for all your metalwork? Right?” Taylor asks, adding to the conversation.
“I didn’t realize you had taken an interest in my artistry,” I tease.
“Not me, I’ve just seen the website, Sophia was showing me some of your work. She had some ideas of how you could revamp your website and possibly get more clicks if you reworked your SEO.” Taylor starts rambling about CPC and targeted campaigns and I zone out.
“Gold?” Samson asks, breaking through my mental fog. “Where do you source it from?”
“There’s a guy in Portland who I buy wholesale from. It’s not what I want exactly, but it works. Do you know anything about precious metals?”
Samson shrugs. “Not much.” He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and for a fleeting, stupid moment I wonder what hotel he is staying at tonight.
Realizing the conversation has once again hit a dead-end I offer Taylor a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“It was nice meeting you, Sam.” I intentionally leave off the son, wanting to give him a little wiggle room in case he wanted to flirt.
“It was nice to meet you too, Ava Grace.”
Okay. So, he wasn’t looking for an in as much as a goodbye. Roger that, ruggedly sexy man from the middle of nowhere.
I leave the restaurant and the November night is chillier than I expected. I run my hands over my arms and look around the empty street for a cab. Of course, there are none to be seen. I pull out my phone and bring up the Uber app. I request a ride and prepare for a ten-minute wait.
“You just planning on standing out here in the cold?” Samson says, coming up beside me.
I smile, his face warming my heart. Okay, let’s be real. His face is warming up my pussy. “I’m just waiting for a ride. I don’t have a car.”
“I don’t have a car here either.”
“At home you do, though, right? Or have you sworn off cars too?”
“I’m guessing you’ve heard some stories about me?”
“Yeah, I heard you were some creepy loner,” I tell him, deadpan. I’ve heard no such thing. Taylor says his brother took care of him for years but then just went off the rails. No one said anything about him being a creep. “I heard that you’re out in the sticks, living off the land. Is that, about right?”
“Something like that.”
“So... Did you need a ride too?” I ask. I know it’s totally insane, but part of me is wondering if I could end up with him tonight. I mean, I want to end up with him tonight, but he’s exactly the kind of man I have written off.
Unavailable. Unstable. Prone to wander.
If someone wanted to track the last four years of my relationships, I think they’d all be categorized in one of those three ways. Winning!
“Can you ride?” he asks, his voice low, his eyes on me. Is he checking me out? I pull in a deep breath realizing, yes. Yes, he is checking me out. Definitely checking me out. This hunk of a mountain man is eying me up.
Can I ride? What does that even mean?