Leaning back comfortably against the side bed of his truck, Graham stretched his feet out in front of him, munching on a too-cold Hot Pocket, deciding it was pretty much as gross as he’d expected. But the woman across from him was munching her pizza pocket like it was high-dollar cuisine.

“If I’d met you in college, we’d have fifteen babies by now.”

Huh. That was one of the things he probably shouldn’t have said. But Zoey just snickered, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Because of my choice in snack foods? You have a short list of requirements in a partner.”

“It was a simpler time,” Graham acknowledged with a sage nod, snagging one of the bottles of water. “If I’d known we were having an impromptu picnic, I would have added to the stash. I make a mean salmon tartare.”

“I’d rather have more reindeer dogs.”

“Admit it. They’re growing on you.”

“Or maybe the guy dishing them out is growing on me.” Zoey glanced at him shyly. “Yesterday, you could have dropped me. Some people would have, knowing they were slipping too, but you just held on. You saved my life. It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen someone do. Thank you, Graham.”

Unable to formulate a proper reply, he chose instead to pull her feet into his lap.

“Did you know the human foot is as long as a person’s arm from elbow to wrist?” Slipping her shoe from her left foot, he placed her polar bear sock against his forearm. It was barely half the length of his arm, and her wriggling toes were tiny. “You’ve got some growing to do, Zoey Bear,” Graham murmured, covering her toes with his cupped hand.

“Graham? Why are you single?” She gazed up at him beneath her long lashes. “You’re too nice to be this available.”

Heart warmed at her compliment, Graham squeezed her toes.

“Probably for a very similar reason as you. Were there no guys in Chicago that could catch your eye?”

“Well…” Zoey hedged, and when she shifted in her seat, he could see the guilt in her eyes. “Lana’s from Chicago. It’s easier to let them think I am too.”

“The plot thickens.”

“I’m from Mudgeton, Illinois. It’s theoretically close to Chicago. Close enough the truck stop outside of town catches a lot of commuters. That’s how I met Lana. I was working a night shift, and she was driving to some estate a friend of hers owns outside the city. She got bored, stopped for a cup of coffee, and we got to talking. I don’t know, we just clicked.”

Zoey’s lips curved in remembrance. “Mudgeton didn’t know what hit it when she decided to stay awhile. I didn’t even know I had a millionaire sleeping on my grandmother’s couch, eating her casseroles all month.”

“Knowing L, the casseroles are what made her stay so long.” Graham pulled out his phone. “All right. I need to see this town.”

With her feet safely tucked in his lap, there was no way for her to get the phone out of his hand.

“Argh! Why is it that everyone has phone service up here but me?”

“Wrong carrier. Okay, so I see. Wow. And I thought Moose Springs was small.”

“We’re not small,” Zoey insisted. “We’re spread out. It’s a farming community, so most of the place is crops, not people.”

“No one in Mudgeton caught your eye? No sexy farmer boys?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Leaning against the side of the truck bed, Zoey sighed lustily in remembrance. “There was Derek Lowman. He was so cute, but he was too busy making an idiot of himself for the girl down the street, Cheryl Ann Parker. It was all very dramatic teenage angst. No one was left unscathed.”

Graham was busy clicking away at his phone. “Cheryl Ann Parker… Oh. Yeah, she’s a hottie.”

Since his phone was out of reach, Zoey tossed a package of crackers at his head.

“Jerk.”

“Did she end up barefoot in Derek’s kitchen?”

“No, she ended up with a college scholarship to the Ohio State vet program.”

“What about you?”

Zoey hesitated, then added in a quieter voice, “I ended up waiting tables on the night shift at the Mudgeton truck stop. Twenty thousand cups of coffee later, I had enough tip money to come here.”

“You think I’m going to judge you because you didn’t go to college?”

Zoey gave him an awkward shrug. “Some people do. Most everyone made it out of Mudgeton. I made it to the highway and stopped.”

“Do you know what I studied in college?”

“It’s definitely not business management,” Zoey teased. “You’re terrible at it.”

“The worst.” No arguments there from him. “I studied how to get kicked out of art school.”

“Too much partying?”

“I wish. I worked my heart out, but I wasn’t good enough. It was either change majors or limp home with my tail between my legs, so I took the money I would have spent on the rest of an art degree and opened the Tourist Trap. I didn’t want my parents and grandparents feeling like I wasted the money they worked so hard to save up to send me to school.”

“They must be proud of you.” Zoey nudged his stomach with her toe. “You’ve done so well.”

“Have I?” he wondered quietly. “I’m not so sure sometimes.”

Leaning over, he brushed the hair from her eyes, those same tendrils that always got stuck in between her nose and her glasses. Finally letting his gaze drift over her features, Graham didn’t try to hide how mesmerized he was by her.

“I should have kissed you in the ice cave,” he murmured.

“Mmm. You should have kissed me on the boat.”

“Yeah, but that would have been a cliché.” His lips curved with affection for this woman, an affection he never expected to have. “Pretty much the same as a first kiss in the bed of a guy’s pickup truck.”

“First kiss? I remember a kiss on the beach, mister.”

“You kissed me. I didn’t kiss you. And upside down first kisses don’t count. We could work on that if you were interested.” Graham waited patiently, giving her the chance to decide what she wanted. When she scooted in, his breath caught in his chest, his stomach tightening.

“Oh really?”

Lips mere centimeters from hers, he nodded. “Really.”

“Did you ever see Lady and the Tramp?”

“I’m not rolling a Hot Pocket toward you with my nose,” Graham said, voice husky with desire. “My nose isn’t clean.”

“You’re not making the best case for yourself,” Zoey observed, but her eyes had started to close as she leaned into his touch.

“I’ll work on making a better one.”

“Oh, look! Graham, I think I can see—”

Then he kissed her, beneath what wasn’t even a hint of the northern lights, threading his fingers into her hair and drawing her close.

Slender hands traced up his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his racing heart. This one had stolen his heart: hook, line, and sinker.

“You taste like Hot Pockets.”

Smiling against her lips, Graham kissed her again. He’d take whatever advantage he could get.

* * *

They’d eaten her picnic and listened to a bubbling brook until Graham’s bladder protested the torture. But he wouldn’t have moved for anything, not with Zoey leaning against his chest, curled up in his arms as they stared up at the sky. One kiss had turned to two, then to more, but he almost liked this most. Having her resting against him, a quiet companion drinking in the beauty of the place he loved.

“You know, Zoey,” he murmured into her ear. “There’s a scene in The Last of the Mohicans where—”

“Book or movie?”

“Does it matter?”

Zoey nodded emphatically. “It definitely matters.”

“Movie. I couldn’t make it through the book. Too boring.”

“You don’t stop reading a classic because it’s boring,” she argued.

“Maybe you don’t stop reading a classic because it’s boring. I do it all the time.”

“Was there a point?”

“I’m getting to it.” Inhaling the scent of her hair, Graham rested his chin against her shoulder, then placed a single kiss to the side of her neck. “There’s this scene in The Last of the Mohicans.”

“Is it a good scene?”

“It’s the best scene. They’re sitting like this, and he’s holding her, like this.” Graham wrapped his arm across her chest, his hand covering her stomach. “And then she’s dramatically craning her head off to the side while he stares into the distance.”

“Like this?” Giggling, Zoey tried to stretch her neck out, head tipped.

“Almost, but I think there was more postcoital, heaving bosom action.”

She heaved as best she could.

Graham squeezed her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. “Good try, but you look like you’re having an asthma attack.”

“No, I’m sexy. I promise.”

She was more than sexy. She was perfect. And like a bad karaoke song with interpretive dance, she was one hundred percent real.

“Hey, Zoey? How many more days?”

“Seven,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his own. Graham held her tighter, and when her smile slipped, he found it again with soft kisses and gentle teasing. But inside, Graham knew the truth, and he knew why this was a terrible idea.

A week would never be enough.

Chapter 12

The line for the Tourist Trap started early. Zoey knew Graham didn’t open for lunch until eleven, but when she drove through town at half after ten, she couldn’t resist going past.

To her shock, the line was a solid twenty people deep already. Zoey parked behind the building next to Graham’s truck because there wasn’t much room in the parking lot, then she pulled out her phone. Fiddling with it to try to get at least one bar of reception, Zoey stood in the back of a growing line. On the third attempt, her call finally went through.