“What? No, why would you ask that?”
He tosses his napkin on the table. “Because I don’t get why a cosmopolitan woman like yourself would move to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.”
“Well, if you haven’t been in my shoes, then you might not ever get it. Living in a major city can be exhausting and—weirdly—incredibly lonely.” I see him raise an eyebrow as soon as I say it, and I wish I could take it back. Not a can of worms I want to open up just yet.
“It won’t last.”
“What won’t?”
“You. Here. You’ll miss the convenience of the city and want to go back. Nothing wrong with that. We all come from somewhere.” He leans back in his seat and finishes off his Pepsi.
“Maybe, maybe not. For now, I’m happy here and loving it. I’m not focused on the next step. Plus, you might not know this, but Trent offered me a very competitive benefits package.” I wriggle my eyebrows and giggle.
I can tell the joke didn’t land by the expression marring his face. He sits back up and places his elbows on the table.
“You dating my brother?”
My smile instantly falters at the suggestion. “Trent? Your bro—no. No, I’m not dating him and that’s not why I got the job.”
He raises his hands. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ve struck a nerve with you now. I didn’t mean to insinuate that that’s why you got the job. You two just seem—close.”
“We get along really well and he trusts me, which means a lot. But also, I wouldn’t have kissed you that night if I were dating him—or anyone, for that matter. I just want to make that clear.”
“We’ve had this conversation and we agreed that what you did technically wasn’t a kiss. It was a peck and it didn’t count.”
I laugh—a full, throaty, head-falling-back laugh, which in turn makes him laugh.
“You ready to head back?”
I nod and he tosses a few bills on the table.
“Hey, I said I was taking you to dinner.” I pick up the money and attempt to hand it back to him, but he refuses to take it—instead he stands up and walks over to pull out my chair.
“A gentleman always pays too.”
“Not if the woman offers. You know, this macho cowboy thing can come off as a bit toxic.” I side-eye him as I reach for my wallet.
“Shanelle?” I say to the waitress, with the bill and my credit card in hand so Tyler can’t pay. I turn to him. “If you really insist, you can always get the tip.” I smile sweetly as Shanelle approaches our table.
“Oh, no worries, sweetie. It’s been taken care of already.” She gives Tyler a wink and he nods back at her as she waves and heads back into the kitchen.
“That is the tip,” Tyler says, motioning toward the wadded bills I still have in my hand.
“What the hell? When did you pay?”
“Before we got here.” He holds my elbow and ushers me out of the restaurant and back into the truck.
“I’m confused. What was that in there?” Then it hits me. “Oh, you own the place, don’t you? Is there anything in this town you don’t own?”
He grips the steering wheel with one hand and stretches his arm out over the back seat to check behind him as he backs up.
“Not much.”
“You know you have a camera for that . . .” I point to the dash, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“You own the motel?” I ask, ready to give him an earful about it.
He shakes his head no.