“I don’t. Really.” He was excellent at sounding innocent and coaxing, though he grinned like a devil.
“Do you own a mirror? Maybe start there.”
Now he laughed. He had a great laugh, rumbly and carefree. Contagious.
I loved this. Loved. This.
I’d forgotten what it was like to talk to a guy who had no idea who I was. Usually, if the guy wasn’t famous, he wanted to use me to get famous. I’d learned that lesson more than once.
And if the guy was already a celebrity, then everything became a competition. I had to deal with his FOMO (fear of missing out); missing out on someone more famous, more important, more relevant.
Even before my career success, I’d never hit it off so quickly with someone. I’d never met a guy and felt entirely at ease, like I didn’t have to carry the conversation, fill the silence with jokes, and constantly entertain. This was easy and fun.
He was easy and fun.
So, of course, I awkwardly thought and blurted at the same time, “I just love you so much.”
Not missing a beat, Jethro responded, “The feeling is mutual,” before I could feel too weird about my crazy admission.
But, despite his immediate assurance, I did feel weird about it. How could I not?
I turned away and faced the windshield, holding my coffee cup with a tight grip, my heart reaching a crescendo between my ears.
This was weird and I was weird. I wasn’t used to being weird. I was used to making other people feel comfortable and important. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to unweird myself.
Turns out, I didn’t need to.
“What did you decide?” Jethro asked, pulling to a stop at a flashing red light.
“What? What do you mean?” My eyes widened as I looked between him and our surroundings, worried he’d been speaking and I’d missed his original question.
He faced me, looking at me like I wasn’t at all weird, like he still wanted to taste me. “You’re sitting over there, having a conversation with yourself. I just wanted to know what you decided.”
I studied—i.e. stared—at him again, thinking this is a man who deserves to be stared at.
“I guess . . .” I debated how to respond, then settled on the truth. “I guess I decided I’m weird. I’ve spent maybe a half hour in your company and just told you I love you. That’s weird.”
He shrugged, again not missing a beat. “It’s not weird. I’m extremely loveable. Doughnut?”
I blinked. “Doughnut?”
He lifted his chin toward the road. “If we go right, we can grab a doughnut from Daisy’s place. They’re amazing. It’s about a half mile that way. But Cades Cove is to the left, so doughnuts would be a detour. Do you have time for a detour?”
“Oh, um . . .” I frowned, surprised by his rapid subject change and seriously considered grabbing a doughnut. “I’m already late,” I said, debating with myself out loud.
He flipped his blinker to the left, even though we were alone on the road, and took the turn for Cades Cove.
“Maybe another time.”
I nodded, my mind caught somewhere between a doughnut and my earlier declaration of love. “Yes. Another time.”
“How about tonight?” he asked, his tone conversational.
“Tonight? You want to get doughnuts tonight?”
“Yeah. I could pick you up from your film set and take you back to the lake house. Both are on my way.”
“Both Cades Cove and Hank’s cabin are on your way home?”
“Actually, no. Not really,” he admitted, a soft smile on his lips. “But it would save both of us some time if you’d just let me drive you, both at night and in the mornings. Then you wouldn’t get lost and be late. And I wouldn’t have to search all the roads and trails looking for you.”
I scoffed, noting self-deprecatingly, “Uh, no. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than chauffeur me around.”
“I can’t think of a single thing more important than driving around a woman who loves me.”
I hid my face in my hands and shook my head harder. “Oh God. You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
He chuckled, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. “I’ll make you a deal. You let me drive you home tonight and pick you up tomorrow. If it’s troublesome for me or unpleasant for you, then we’ll call it off, no big deal. But if the arrangement suits us both, then . . .” he trailed off, allowing me to fill in the blanks.
I peeked at him through my fingers. “But what are you getting out of this arrangement? I mean,” I let my hands drop, “the benefit to me is obvious. But do you really want to saddle yourself with a directionally challenged, prematurely love-declaring weirdo for the next twelve weeks?”