“Where’s the town?” Sinclair glances from side to side. I meet his eyes briefly, his brows gathered in question. “Nothing but fields and fences for as far as I can see.” He runs his fingers through his brown hair, mussing it nicely.
Stop ogling him, Harlow. But it’s no use. I keep turning to glance at him like a magnet to metal.
“The airport is built in the middle of nowhere, or more like dairy farmland.” I point out the cows on the right side of the road. “I promise there is a town up ahead.”
“Manhattan to farmland in under five hours. Amazing.” He shakes his head, and laughs.
“Don’cha know. I’d love to visit New York City someday. I’ve never been outside Minnesota. I was born and raised here.”
“Wow,” he says. I have to be the most boring person he’s ever met. A poor Minnesota girl with one main goal in life: surviving. That is, until I met James. “That accent. You sound so Fargo. It’s adorable.”
“I betcha think I’m from the backwoods,” I say “betcha” on purpose, but more as a tease. I have been working so hard on taming my Minnesota twang. James hates it and says it makes me appear low-class, but Sinclair appears amused and it makes me smile.
An easy silence transpires between us as I come closer to the turn off for James’ house. “Down the next road is the home James built on five acres. It has private fencing all around the property and a gated entrance. I call it The Fortress,” I laugh, and notice Sinclair’s silence. I sneak a quick look and find him shaking his head.
“You know he grew up on the Upper East Side,” Sinclair comments. “A high-energy concrete jungle. Here you can see open land stretching out forever. It’s the exact opposite of where he was raised. I still can’t believe he settled here.”
“He doesn’t really talk about his upbringing.” James hardly ever mentions his family, other than telling me no one’s crazy about us being together. I’m surprised Sinclair came here, even if it’s for a clerkship at The Clinic.
I point out a few landmarks on the way to the restaurant downtown. Well, actually, the only two we come across are the fairgrounds and a veteran’s memorial park. I’m embarrassed at the lack of culture in our town compared to what Sinclair has at his fingertips in New York City.
We don’t have anything like Central Park or Times Square. But we do have one thing that makes this small, sleepy town stand out: the best medical center in the world. Kings and leaders come from all corners of the globe for care. Without The Clinic, this place would be a ghost town.
“We’re almost to the restaurant. The Clinic is a couple blocks north of here, Sinclair.” I point ahead to two tall buildings popping up in the twilight sky ahead of us.
“Do me a favor. Please, call me Sin. I hate the sound of my full name. It fits a guy wearing a bowtie and smoking a pipe.” He gestures over his body, highlighting he’s the furthest thing from a bowtie guy. “I do clean up well, though.”
I bet you do. I wonder if he shaves that scruff on his jaw. It looks like the planned kind … the sexy-as-hell kind.
I take a peek at his face and see him grinning back at me. Is he flirting? It’s second nature to a guy like him. He probably has women lined up back in New York City.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Oh, crap. I can’t believe that slipped out of my mouth. He laughs next to me as I wait for his answer.
“Nope. No girlfriends. Too busying trying to be a doctor.” I can’t stop the silly smile from forming on my lips. I should want him to be with someone, but oddly, I don’t.
“I’m sorry that was none of my business.” I shake my head at my stupidity.
“No problem. Speaking of business, there isn’t a lot going on downtown for a Friday night,” he says while scanning the nearly deserted roads.
“Welcome to lively Rochester, Sin.” I add a nice dose of sarcasm with the comment and call him by his preferred name. It fits the devilishly handsome man sitting next to me.
“We’re here.” I let out a long sigh of relief as I park on the street. I need some fresh air. His scent hits me the wrong way for someone getting married in four weeks.
Before I can climb out of the car on my own, Sin’s there to open the door for me. Fast on his feet would be an understatement. I can’t remember the last time James did this simple act for me. Maybe back when he was still working to get me in his bed. How I miss those attentive days.
“Thanks.” I bite my lip as I try to suppress the warm feelings his attention brings. It’s the attention I miss, not Sin giving it to me. I repeat this to myself, but I’m not convinced.
We begin to walk toward Rogue’s entrance on the concrete sidewalk. He touches me right at the curve of my lower back and sirens go off in my head. Anyone watching might think we’re a couple. I pray no one James knows sees us. They have no idea Sin is James’ nephew and rumors fly at the speed of light in this version of Pleasantville.