We are cruising down the highway, the top of my Camaro down, sending her hair flying all over the place. She reaches in her pocket and pulls out some kind of hair tie, then proceeds to twist those long, soft strands into a knot at the top of her head, bands it together, then grins at me. “Better.”

“Where will this road take us?” I ask.

“All the way to Mississippi,” she says, then flicks on the satellite radio, turns the station to current hits, and begins to sing along with Rihanna, about being the only girl in the world.

She’s the only girl in my world, that’s for damn sure.

She can’t sing worth a damn, and her dance moves in the leather seat are questionable.

But she sings and moves like she just doesn’t give a fuck, and that is the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a very long time.

We drive for miles, both of us singing along with the radio, Gabby dancing her ass off.

Laughing.

I glance over at her, and she looks young. Carefree.

Happy.

I take her hand in mine, kiss her knuckles, and rest them on the center console as she sings into the thumb of her free hand.

It’s Maroon 5 now.

The sun is sinking to our left, bathing everything in a pink and orange glow. It’s getting late.

“Oh! There’s an awesome restaurant up ahead,” Gabby says. “It’s been owned by the same family for four generations. Best food in the South.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving.”

“Done.”

I pull into the parking lot of a building that says Mama’s Place. It looks like it should have been condemned fifty years ago.

“I know it doesn’t look like much from the outside.”

“Is it safe in there?”

Gabby laughs and jumps out of the car. “Don’t be a wimp, O’Shaughnessy.”

I narrow my eyes as I join her and take her small hand in mine. “If the roof is collapsed at all, we’re leaving.”

She simply shakes her head and laughs as we enter the dilapidated building, but once inside, my eyes widen in surprise. It’s not only sound, it’s amazing.

And the smells coming from the kitchen have my stomach weeping with joy.

“Best food ever,” Gabby says with that sweet smile.

We’re shown to a table, and I can’t stop looking around long enough to glance at the menu. There are stuffed alligators on the walls, along with other animals, fishing poles, and signs that say, “Beware of Gators.”

When the waitress arrives, Gabby orders for both of us. “Trust me,” she says after the waitress gathers our menus and leaves.

“I do,” I reply honestly. She tips her head to the side.

“I don’t think you have trust issues.” She sips her sweet tea thoughtfully.

“Why is that?”

“Because I think that you just don’t take shit from people. Plus, you’re nice.”

I cringe. “Nice is the kiss of death with women.”

“Not this woman.” She shakes her head and pushes her straw through the ice. “Nice is a good thing.”

“How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you trust easily?”

She frowns, her eyes still on her drink. “I trust my family. And Sam, of course, although he always tries to tell me that it wasn’t him who broke the window.”

I smirk. “You know what I mean.”

Gabby shrugs, not meeting my gaze.

“Look at me.”

“Why do you always make me look at you?” She frowns as though she’s irritated, and it only makes me smile wider.

“Because I love it when you look at me,” I reply softly. “And I want to see your eyes when you talk.”

“I don’t trust men easily. Well, at all really.”

“You can trust me.”

She starts to say something, then stops herself and takes a drink of her tea.

“What were you going to say?”

She frowns again and shakes her head, but I take her hand in mine. “Look at me. What were you going to say?”

She meets my gaze, straightens her shoulders—good girl—and firms her lips. “I was going to say that in my experience, men haven’t been exactly trustworthy.”

“Well, what if I told you that your assessment was wrong?”

“Bullshit.” She offers me a saccharine sweet smile, then sips her drink.

“I don’t trust easily either, Gabrielle.” Her eyes widen when I use her full name. “But I trust you. And you can trust me, too.”

“I know,” she whispers. “And it’s weird.”

“Weird?”

“Maybe new is a better word.”

“Nothing wrong with new,” I reply as our food is set before us. She stares at her plate for a long minute, then raises her gaze to mine.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

I tilt my head, taking her in, her hair, her eyes, her mouth, neck, shoulders, then return my gaze to her eyes. “Never on purpose.”

She nods and we’re quiet as we eat our fried catfish. She only finishes half of her plate, so I eat what she can’t, then pay the bill and escort her outside, where night has fallen.

“It’s a bit cooler without the sun. Do you want me to put the top up?”

“No way.” She smiles and sits in the car after I open the door for her. “You’re quite chivalrous.”

“They’re called manners, sweetheart.” I wink, walk around the car to join her and pull out of the parking lot, headed back toward the inn. “There was a sign for a scenic outlook up here that I’d like to check out.”