Logan Brantley just admitted to stalking me online. I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.
“How long before?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“On that one, I’m gonna have to plead the Fifth.” He leans against the big black truck. “Was surprised to see the Caddy in the parking lot of Piggly Wiggly this morning.”
Caddy? Piggly Wiggly? Those seem like two things that don’t belong in the same sentence.
My confusion must be obvious because Logan adds, “You don’t remember the Caddy? You damn near puked all over it. Barely got the door open in time. Karas’s rental bill would’ve been a little bit higher then, not that he would’ve probably cared.”
The picture is starting to come together, and sweet relief is flooding me. “Are you telling me that Creighton is at Piggly Wiggly?”
The mental image is comical. Creighton in a three-piece suit, pushing a shopping cart and picking up . . . what? Eggs and bacon?
Then what was with the note? Was that just a taste of my own medicine?
Logan shrugs. “That was my assumption, anyway.”
I’m still trying to absorb this new development when the deep purr of an engine catches my attention, and a shiny black Cadillac crunches over the gravel drive, stopping next to Logan’s truck.
The Caddy. Crey’s rental car.
The man in question puts the car in PARK and opens the door. I can’t read his expression when he steps out.
While we were on tour, I saw Creighton in jeans several times, but something about the denim clinging to his hips sucks IQ points straight out of my brain. The black thermal knit shirt hugging his broad shoulders and defined chest adds to the effect.
His diligence in keeping fit surprised me as well on tour. He and Boone bonded over weight lifting stuff that meant nothing to me. I was happy he developed an easy camaraderie with BT. It was another way he fit into my world that I didn’t expect.
He glances at Logan. “Brantley. You need something?”
“Nothing at all. Just stopping in to see how Holly is feeling this morning.”
Creighton nods and presses a button on the remote in his hand. The trunk lid pops open. “Might as well make yourself useful and carry in groceries before Holly tries to help.”
Logan looks from me to Creighton and does exactly that. The men both carry in armfuls of grocery bags.
“Damn, you planning to feed the whole neighborhood?” Logan asks before pausing and adding, “Or are you planning on staying a while?”
“Staying as long as Holly wants.” Creighton’s response is matter-of-fact.
I’m following them up the steps of the front porch and trip as the words come out of his mouth. I would have fallen on my face, but Crey drops an armload of bags and grabs me before my forehead connects with the porch’s wood planks.
“Shit, Holly. Are you okay?” he asks as he carefully spins me to face him.
Stunned, I stare up into his dark brown eyes, wondering when everything changed. I expected him to still be furious, as furious as he looked this morning. But instead I’m caught up in the arms of a man who is looking at me like not letting me fall is the most important thing in his life.
No man has ever dropped anything—literally or figuratively—to catch me from falling.
So in that moment, my two options become very clear: continue to hold up my walls and be afraid to rest easy in the safety of his arms, or lean into him and let the walls crumble around me.
Blind trust is a new concept for me. Actually, it never occurred to me to trust a man. They rotated in and out of my childhood, and except for Ben, no man has ever shown me that my trust would be safely placed with him. But Creighton might as well be a breed of his own.
“Holly?” Crey asks again, and I realize I’ve totally checked out.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry. Just . . . missed a step.” Maybe missed a lot more than a step.
Creighton’s stare intensifies. “I think we’ve both missed several steps. And that’s something we’re going to rectify.”
He sets me on my feet and gathers up the bags. My gaze cuts to Logan, who is watching us both. His eyebrows are drawn together as if he’s trying to dissect what the heck is going on.
I pull open the door, and the men both carry their bags inside. “You can just put them on the table.”
Logan sets his down and looks to Creighton and then to me. “You need anything from me while you’re in town, just holler. You still want me to fix up the car? It’ll sell better if it runs.”
“You can tow it to the junkyard. Holly will have a new car waiting for her in Nashville.”
Okay, so maybe my trust is a gradual thing, and not so blind or immediate. Baby steps.