I look up, seeing the large hanging banner right before we drive under it.
Chapel Peak Smokin’ Summerfest!
August 26-29
Chapel Peak…
“This isn’t Telluride,” I say, turning my eyes on him.
“I said it was outside of Telluride,” he corrects. “Wayyyy outside of Telluride.”
Even better, actually. Telluride was a famous ski destination—lots of shops and high-end fare. This will be different. I want different.
I watch the shops pass by. Grind House Café. Porter’s Post Office. The Cheery Cherry Ice Cream Shop. The…
I turn my head to take in the cute red and white pin-striped awning as we pass a small shop and almost smile. “A candy store…”
I used to love candy stores. I haven’t been inside one in years.
Rebel’s Pebbles, I read the sign. It sounds so wild west.
“Do you have your license?” he asks.
I turn my head back facing front and nod.
“Good.” He pauses, and I can feel him looking over at me. “Feel free to use any of the vehicles, just make sure I know where you’re going, okay?”
Any of the vehicles. Does he mean his and his sons’？ Where are they, by the way?
Not that I expected them to be at the airport, too, but it kind of makes me nervous that they might not be excited about me coming if they weren’t there to greet me. Something else I’d failed to consider. They had a comfy, testosterone-infused man-cave, and here comes the girl they think they’ll have to guard their dirty jokes around now.
Of course, it’s Thursday. Maybe they’re just at work.
Which reminds me…
“What do you do?” I ask him.
He glances over at me. “My sons and I customize dirt bikes,” he tells me. “ATVs, dune buggies…”
“You have a shop here?”
“Huh?”
I clear my throat. “You have a… a shop here?” I say again, louder.
“No. We take orders, build them from our garage at home, and then ship off the finished product,” he explains, and I can’t help but take another look over at him. He fills up the driver’s seat, the sun-kissed muscles in his forearm tight as he holds the wheel.
So different from my father, who hated being outside and never went without a long-sleeved shirt, unless he was going to bed.
Jake meets my eyes. “We’ll be getting a lot of orders in soon,” he says. “It keeps us pretty busy throughout the winter, and then we send them off in the spring, just in time for the season to start.”
So they worked from home. The three of them.
They’ll be around all the time.
I absently rub my palms together as I stare ahead, hearing my pulse quicken in my ears.
Even at Brynmor my parents had arranged for me to have a single room with no roommate. I prefer being alone.
I wasn’t a hermit. I could talk to my teachers and have discussions, and I love seeing the world and doing things, but I need space to breathe. A quiet place of my own to decompress, and men are noisy. Especially young ones. We’ll all be on top of each other all the time if they work from home.
I close my eyes for a moment, suddenly regretting doing this. Why did I do this?
My classmates hated me, because they took my silence for snobbishness.
But it’s not that. I just need time. That’s all.
Unfortunately, not many are patient enough to give me a chance. These guys are going to see me as rude, just like the girls at school do. Why would I purposely put myself in a situation to be forced to get to know new people?
I clench my jaw and swallow, seeing him out of the corner of my eye. He’s staring at me. How long has he been watching me?
I instantly force my face to relax and my breathing to slow, but before I can bury my face in my phone to cover up my near panic attack, he’s swerving the truck to the left and coming full circle, heading back in the direction we just came.
Great. He’s taking me back to the airport. I freaked him out already.
But as he speeds back down the main street, and I grip the seatbelt strap across my chest to steady myself, I watch as he passes back through two lights and jerks the wheel to the left, sliding into a parking spot on the side of the street.
My body lurches forward as he stops short, and before I have a chance to consider what’s going on, he kills the engine and hops out of the truck.
Huh…
“Come on,” he tells me, casting me a look before he slams the door closed.
I look out the front windshield and see Rebel’s Pebbles etched in gold on the black Victorian-style sign.