Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

description intrigues me, which he says with a shy grin. “She got around that by sending me to pick you up. I’m her neighbor.”

Up close and in my personal space, this hayseed smells like the outdoors: meadow grass, wood, and something else I can’t identify. If a smell could be warm and feral, that would be Garrett.

He’s already rolling away with my bag before my brain can process that scent.

“I can roll my own bag,” I say, taking off after him toward the baggage carousel.

Like a man on a mission, he replies, “I’m your wheelman now, Miss Eliza.”

I splutter as I struggle to keep up with him, which is a feat in itself. The stride of his long legs is twice mine, plus I’m in heels. I’ve never been one of those people who wear flip-flops on airplanes. “I told Grams I would rent a car. There’s no need for all this fuss.”

“No fuss. And anyway, now that I’m here, I can’t go back to Piper’s Grove without you. That would be downright ungentlemanly.”

Oh my god. What a cornball. A hot as hell, suspiciously hippie-like, folksy cornball with nothing better to do on a Thursday afternoon. I guess this is what I signed up for when deciding to vacation in my hometown—friendly interactions with local yokels. Although, to be fair, I am one of those yokels. I was born in Piper’s Grove, and ten years of Manhattan can’t wash away the Midwesterner in me.

As we watch and wait for the rest of my bags, I explain, “The other reason I told Grams not to come to get me is so I could have my own wheels. I’ll be at the mercy of her unpredictable Ford Fiesta.”

Garrett chuckles. “That thing is a bit of a pain, but I’m on top of it. Still runs good when I drive her around.”

I snap my gaze up to his face. “You drive her around?”

“No big deal. Just sometimes, if she needs something. And anyway, it needs to be driven once in a while to keep the engine in good shape.”

I study his profile—a firm jaw smattered with dark scruff, full, playful lips, a nose that looks like it’s been broken at least once—and decide he has an honest, trustworthy face. Not a cult member. Probably. Still, what is he doing, taking two hours out of his day for a neighbor? What’s his angle?

He can feel me studying him for clues, and his lips curl in that shy smile again. “If you don’t want to cancel your rental, at least let me help you with your bags. Then, you get a head start back to town. I’ll let you explain things to Betty.”

He turns toward me and looks me straight in the eyes. All I see are two deep, honey-colored pools looking back at me with a wide-open sincerity. He knows Betty, that’s for sure. She’ll be howling at him if it seems like he left me at the airport to fend for myself, even if I am perfectly capable of getting where I need to go on my own.

At this moment, we understand each other. We both know that when Betty wants to roll out a red carpet, then you’d better get with the program and accept it. I see it in those warm eyes of his, honey flecked with green, like a wise old lion. Betty has so little material wealth to share, we’re better off accepting the small things she can do for us. “I’ll ride with you. I’ll call a rideshare to get back to the airport in two weeks.”

Garrett’s easy smile radiates down at me, and I can feel his energy sucking me into his laid-back vibe. We couldn’t be more different. He probably doesn’t even own a day planner.

The truth is, Piper’s Grove isn’t exactly a Filofax kind of town. More of an ink-pen-scrawl-reminder-on-the-palm-of-your-hand, phone-number-on-a-cocktail-napkin sort of town.

I’m grateful for the lack of small talk while we gather my bags off the carousel and eventually make our way outside of the small terminal. While I’m not thrilled at the idea of loading my matched luggage into the back of a pickup truck, I’m impressed that Garrett covers the whole thing with a tarp and secures it with a bungee cord.

“Thank you,” I say.

“In case it rains,” he says.

“Right. I appreciate the forethought,” I reply with a smile.

Another thing I appreciate? I mean, apart from watching his veiny forearms ripple as he arranges and rearranges my stuff with care. I appreciate the fact that this pickup looks like it’s used for actual work. I remember a date with a boy back in my high school days whose truck bed was pristine. Not a single scratch. The cab, even more so. I don’t think the wheel wells ever saw a speck of mud.

Garrett looks and smells every bit like a person who likes to get dirty. Of course, I don’t say this out loud. I don’t blurt things out. This is where Grams and I are different; she has no filter, and sometimes I have too much of one.

The drive to Piper’s Grove flies by. In part, because I’ve relaxed enough to accept that Garrett is a big part of Grams’ life now, so he must be a good person. And also because the drive is full of familiar sights that bring me back to my childhood, reminding me that I liked growing up here. When I turned eighteen, I got out of here as fast as I could. I’m glad I did, but looking at the rolling hills, creeks, and the wide-open spaces, I think I should have made more of an effort to visit from time to time. I feel a twinge of guilt, realizing that I’ve been so busy working that it’s been years since I’ve seen Grams.

I’m not quite ready to admit that another reason the drive flies by is that I’m enjoying talking to this stranger. I ask about his cap, and he tells me all