Half in anticipation, half trodding with cold feet, I asked him, “Where are we going?”
Since Noah picked me up at the winery, he hadn’t spoken two words, and it reminded me how tall, stark, and moody he could be.
Maybe this was a mistake.
“Our place.” His voice was resonant and impressive, and hit me right between the feels. He began whistling softly, something I’d never heard him do before, and the beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth.
Something was definitely off.
He pulled off on a road at the east side of town, driving the opposite direction of The Ranch and his hunting cabin in the woods.
My thoughts scampered around even more frenetically than usual, and he drove past a small lake where geese plucked grass along the shoreline and pruned their ombre-gray wings. T
