Page 16 of Wrangling Wade

I hesitate and then slip mine into his, allowing him to link our fingers together.

"You got a sketchbook?" he asks.

"Yes…"

"Grab it. You'll need it."

I shoot him a questioning look, but he just smirks at me, clearly not willing to tell me anything. I grumble wordlessly, not sure I like surprises, but I hurry across the porch to grab it. He takes it, tucking it under his arm before leading me through the house and out to his truck.

My entire body quivers when he wraps his hands around my waist, lifting me inside like it's easy. I guess for him, it probably is. He wrangles cattle and probably wrestles wild animals for fun. I've been a big girl my entire life, but my weight is probably nothing when you boss around fully grown bulls for a living.

We drive in silence until we're out of my neighborhood, heading toward downtown. And then he glances over at me. "You nervous?"

"A little." I fidget with my sketchbook. "It's been a while since I went out with anyone."

He reaches across the console, lacing our fingers together. "For me, too."

"Really?" I eye him sideways.

"Told you that I don't fuck around, beautiful."

"There's a difference between dating and fucking, Wade."

"Agreed, but I don't waste time on shit that isn't going anywhere, and I don't jump into bed with just anyone," he says with a shrug. He looks over at me, lifting my fingers to his lips. "You and I are going somewhere."

My stomach clenches, a frisson of heat working its way through me. "Yes, we are," I agree. "You're driving there right now."

His lips curve with amusement. "Smartass."

"Thanks."

He chuckles, placing our linked hands on top of the console as we stop at a red light at Broadway.

"Um, where are we going?" I ask.

"You'll see in a minute."

I grumble wordlessly.

"Not big on surprises, huh?"

"Nope."

"Too bad," he says, flipping on the blinker. "You'll just have to suffer for another sixty seconds. We're almost there."

I don't really mind, but I grumble again, just because I like the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when I do it. But true to his word, he slows the truck in front of a row of shops not even sixty seconds later.

I gape in shock when he pulls into the parking lot of an art gallery with sculptures on either side of the door and a mural of the town painted across the front wall. "I know this place," I whisper, my heart pounding with excitement. The name has changed, but it's the same building.

"Oh, yeah?"

"My mom had a show here when I was a kid. They turned the whole place into a jungle to display her sculptures," I murmur, my heart twinging at the memory. "I loved lying in the fake grass, staring up at the stars they painted on the ceiling."

"How old were you?"

"Seven or eight? It was before…"

He squeezes my hand when I trail off, then kills the engine. "You miss her, don't you?"