Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
A smile curls my lips. “A GT500, to be exact.”
Diesel puts both hands to his heart, staggering back dramatically. “Holy shit, I might be in love.”
I laugh and move closer to the car, running a reverent hand over the shiny metallic red car as I circle her. “Me, too. She’s gorgeous. Is she yours?”
“I wish.” He pats the top of the car affectionately, his lips still smiling. “An old timer in town asked me to fix it up for him, get it running, and redo the interior. It’s going to take a few months, and that’s when I find the fucking time, but you seem like a woman who might appreciate this beauty.”
“Oh, I do,” I laugh. “Can I get a look?” My eyes flick to the hood with barely concealed excitement.
Diesel’s expression matches my own, and he pops the hood, standing back to let me appreciate his work so far. “Most of what’s already done is new. The old man tried to do some of it himself before he realized what a big job it would be.”
“It’s so shiny. Is she running yet?”
“Nope. That’s my next task. Soon.” He tells me about his plans for the interior, which sounds perfect. “Red leather with white piping is on backorder. The wooden rim steering wheel is original.”
I nod eagerly at his plans. “You gonna replace that 428 with something else?”
His smile is so bright it's damn near blinding. “Replace it? Not on your life, sweetheart. I got one in the back.”
“Wow. I love old cars, and muscle cars are like the cherry on top. I’m kind of jealous.” Instantly think of my dad and how much he’d get a kick out of seeing a car like this up close. “My dad used to have an old Chevy Nova. I always wanted to fix it up, but he was too busy. Gone all the time.” I sigh. “You really know how to show a girl a good time, Diesel.”
“Just wait for what comes next,” he says and takes my hand—again—and leads me out of the shop with nothing but a farewell from his still curious friends.
The more time I spend on the back of Diesel’s bike, the more I like it. Even with a helmet, the feel of the wind is freeing. The feeling of zipping down the road completely uncovered is an element of danger I never thought I’d like. But I do.
We pull into a parking lot at what seems to be a pretty fancy strip mall, and through the large windows, I see a few women smiling behind a counter of baked goods. “What’s this?”
“For Goodness Cakes. The owner is with one of my brothers. She won the money to pay for this place in a cooking competition. Come on.” He takes my hand, and it’s a feeling I’m starting to like more than I should. “Maven’s pastries are freakin’ delicious.”
We step inside, and all the women smile at him and greet him by name. But my attention shifts to the sugary, buttery smells that fill the space.
“Hey, Willow,” he says to a very pretty woman. “What’s good today?”
The woman, Willow, slides her gaze to me and then back to Diesel, arching her brows in question. “Everything is good, as always. What’ll it be?”
“I need to try that cronut-looking thingy first,” I say, practically salivating on the display case. “Is that caramel on top?”
Willow smiles. “Bourbon caramel.”
“Good God, can I have it now, please?”
Willow straightens up and laughs. “I like her,” she says to Diesel with a smile. She hands me the pastry wrapped in parchment paper, and I bite into it as she and Diesel go back and forth over what else to get.
I’m too in love with this cronut to pay attention to what they’re saying, but eventually, Diesel takes possession of a small box and shoves money into a tip jar. “Thanks, Willow.”
“Yeah, thanks, Willow. This is the best thing I’ve had in my mouth in a long time.”
She blinks, slides a gaze to Diesel, and then cracks up laughing.
“That’s only because she hasn’t had me in her mouth yet,” he says in return. “Ow,” he says with a smile when I smack his arm. “It’s the truth.”
“Says you,” I shoot back. “Where to next?”
He shrugs, holding the door open for me like a gentleman. “Wherever the day takes us.”
It seems the day has plans to take us everywhere. We stop at a bench overlooking the beach, enjoying the pastries while chatting about everything and nothing at once. We stop at a roadside pizza truck for a slice and a beer. It’s all no frills, yet the most impressive and thoughtful date I’d ever had.
Not that this is a date. I mean, who goes on an all-day date? Not me or any of the men I dated in the past. It’s not a date, Cassidy. Of course, it’s not. A guy like Diesel says what he wants explicitly, and if this was supposed to be a date, he would have said so.