Drew knew he was poking the sleeping bear, so to speak. The last thing he wanted was for Mitch to find out he’d slept with his sister. Parading Liz around in his Mustang probably wasn’t a step in the right direction.
But she needed a car and he had a car. And if it gave him some kind of primal thrill seeing Liz behind the wheel of his pride and joy, nobody needed to know that.
*
Enveloped in the scent of old leather and Drew Miller, Liz followed the big SUV through Whitford. Her fingers slid easily into the grooves decades of the man driving the car had worn into the steering wheel and she tried not to dwell on how sexy everything about the car—the look, the sound, the smell—was as she focused on the road.
It was better to think about how bad it probably sucked on gas, although whether or not it was worse than her own car remained to be seen. And just how much it would suck if she put so much as a door ding in the thing.
She’d continued to argue with him for what had to be another half hour after he’d given her the lame spiel about him wanting her to drive it to annoy her brother. There weren’t any car rental places within a reasonable distance of Whitford, but there had to be an extra vehicle kicking around the lodge she could borrow.
But he wouldn’t take no for an answer and, eventually, she’d gotten tired of arguing with him. So now she was driving the car she’d drooled over from afar during high school, though she’d never wanted a tour of the backseat like most of the girls had. Not that it would have mattered. Even if she hadn’t been nothing more than Mitch’s little sister to him, Drew only had eyes for Mallory.
Unfortunately, when Drew’s turn signal started blinking, Liz realized she hadn’t been paying attention and they’d arrived at Lauren’s small ranch-style house without her knowing quite how they got there. She’d jotted down the directions her brother Ryan had given her over the phone, but she suspected that scrap of paper was still in the console of her car, along with the fast food and gas receipts she’d accumulated along the road.
And Lauren didn’t have a garage. Or rather, Liz didn’t have a garage, and she could imagine Drew sitting in the SUV he’d just shut off, cringing at the thought of his baby being exposed to the elements.
He didn’t say anything when they were both out of their vehicles, though. He just opened the back of the SUV and grabbed a box while Liz retrieved the key from where it had been taped under the mailbox for her. After unlocking the door, she opened it and felt along the wall for the light switch.
“It’s very...empty,” Drew said from over her shoulder, and she stepped aside so he could carry the box in.
Her new home was indeed very empty. There was a futon in the living room and, judging by the familiar quilt draped over the back, it was Rosie’s doing. Next to it sat an upside-down milk crate with a pile of paperback books on top, probably to distract her from the lack of a television. She went into the kitchen and smiled at the smallest microwave she’d ever seen, so new it still had the stickers on it. It was the only thing in the kitchen besides the stove, the fridge and a basket covered by a towel and a note.
She peeked under the towel first. Banana bread and pumpkin muffins, freshly baked judging by the smell. Then she read the note, written in Rosie’s familiar handwriting.
Welcome home! I know you said you didn’t need anything, but I brought in a few things so you could at least have a place to sit. Call me when you get in. Love, Rosie.
Home, she thought. Maybe all she had to sit on was a hand-me-down futon, but she was home.
The first bedroom she came to was empty, and the bathroom had the bare necessities. Liz smiled when she recognized the towels and hospitality toiletries used by the Northern Star. It cheered her up, knowing her family had ignored her when she said she’d be fine and didn’t need anything.
The big bedroom almost made her cry. Somebody had been busy, basically disassembling her room at the lodge and moving it here. Her bed was made with her favorite quilt, and everything from her dresser to her ancient unicorn lamp had made the trip.
“Liz?”
She jumped, turning back to the hallway. She’d forgotten about Drew, who probably thought she’d abandoned him to carry everything in by himself.
“None of the boxes are marked, so I put them in the living room.”
“Thanks. I’ll help with the rest. I didn’t mean to run off on you.”
“It’s done. You don’t really own a lot, Liz.”
“I’m starting over,” she told him. “Sorry I’m not starting over in a place with a garage, though. It’s not too late to change your mind about the Mustang.”
“It’s a car. Won’t kill her to sit outside for a few days.” He shrugged. “I’m going to head out. If you stop by the station, we’ll write you out a police report for the insurance company.”
“Thanks for your help.”