He thanks Mrs. Nellwood with a quick, tight smile then hustles over to me. He doesn’t actually move quickly, but each step he takes seems laden with the intent to get the fuck out of here. Fine by me.

The moving mass of teenagers has hit the makeup aisle, and much squealing has ensued. And they’ve definitely noticed him. The girls keep whispering while glancing at his back, which isn’t surprising. Killian is tall and well formed. A hot stranger. He might as well be bait on a hook for the local female population.

I am surprised, however, when Killian takes my hand and tugs me outside. Not surprised that he wants to leave, but that he does it in a way that makes it look like we’re a couple. In silence, we walk down Main Street, and all I can think about is the rough yet warm feel of his hand in mine. His hold on me is secure but easy, his stride slowed to match my shorter steps.

Jesus, I need to get a grip. I can’t have a crush on this man. We’ve already set up a pattern in our relationship. He teases, I sneer. The idea of him finding out I’m attracted to him makes my insides twist. I’d never live it down. Never.

“That was a cool place,” he says, breaking me out of my panicked thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Nellwood’s described as ‘cool.’ But if you liked it, that’s all that matters.”

Glancing down at me, his dark eyes flash with good humor, though the lines around his mouth are still tight. He gives me a little nudge as we walk along. “How very magnanimous of you, Libby.”

That’s the other thing. Despite his general I’m-a-wayward-bum appearance, Killian has clearly received a fine education. Better than mine, if I had to guess. I want to ask him, but every time we touch on anything remotely personal about him, he withdraws.

“Oh, hey.” He stops and faces me while digging around in the bag. “Got you something.”

“Hell, no,” I blurt out when he lifts up a matching trucker hat, this one in purple.

“Now, Libby, don’t knock it ’till you try it.”

Before I can make a run for it, he slips the hat onto my head. He’s standing so close it’s almost an embrace when he lifts his arms to adjust the brim. Close enough to draw in the faint scent of soap on his skin. Close enough that a soft flush of heat washes over me, and I struggle not to lean in to him.

“There,” he says. “You look…”

He falls silent. The sound of my own breathing, and his, grows loud in the quiet. Flustered, I look up. He’s biting his lower lip in concentration, those strong, white teeth making little dents in that lush curve.

Eyes the color of hot coffee meet mine, and my heart gives a great thwump in response. A tremor goes through my middle, my body heating so swiftly, I’m surprised I haven’t broken out in a sweat. I want to look away, but I can’t. He stares at me as if confused, his lips parting slightly.

My own lips seem to swell, blood pulsing through them. I want to press them to his and ease this strange ache. I don’t move. Desperately, I try to think of what we were saying, where we are.

I clear my throat. “I look what?” My voice is a croak of sound.

Killian blinks, his dark brows knitting. He licks his lower lip, and I almost cave. When he speaks, his deep voice is a rumble. “Cute,” he says. “You look cute in that hat.”

The gentle touch of his fingertips brushing back a lock of my hair has me shivering.

“I thought your eyes were gray,” he says, still not stepping back. No, he’s leaning in, his breath a soft caress over my lips. “But they look green now.”

The observation gives me the strength to break eye contact. I take a big step back and look away, a kick of pain hitting my heart. “I have my mom’s eyes. They change color depending on the light. Gray, green, blue.” I don’t want to think of Mom’s eyes. Or that the only way I can see anything close to them now is to look in the mirror.

Killian touches my elbow. His expression is somber. “They’re beautiful.” He looks as though he’s about to say more, but then the group of girls come out of the hardware store in another wave of giggles.

Killian tenses. I look their way and find them staring at us. No, not us. At him. Heads bent together, the girls peer at Killian and frown.

I’m about to frown back at their rude asses when Killian gives the brim of my cap a playful tap. “Come on, little trucker, we’ve got snacks to eat.”

He takes my hand again, tugging me along. The simple fact that he never looks their way makes me believe he’s trying to avoid interaction.

“Do you know one of them or something?” I ask as we hustle toward my truck.

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid. It isn’t a good look on you. You’re walking away from that group of girls like your balls are on fire.”

“Sounds painful.” He shudders. “In fact, never ever talk about my balls being on fire again. Add that to our ‘Nope’ list.”

“Killian, those girls. Do you know one of them?”

“I’m twenty-seven. Why would I know a bunch of teenage girls here? Or anywhere? That would make me some sort of creeper.”

“I don’t know why. But they were looking at you as if they knew you. And you’re clearly avoiding them.”

“Now who’s playing detective.”

I stop short by the passenger door to my pickup truck. His hand slips from mine, but he turns to face me. His scowl is dark. I glare right back. “Tell. Me. What’s going on?”

He deflates then. “All right. Just…get in the truck, will you?”

I gesture to the door, since I’m the one driving. He growls low in his throat and wrenches it open, tossing his snacks into the cab.

It isn’t until we’re almost home that he speaks. “Okay. No, I didn’t know those girls. But I think they might have recognized me. Or they were trying to place me.” He frowns and rubs his chin. “I shouldn’t have shaved.”

“Who are you that those girls would recognize you?” Jesus, is he some infamous criminal released on a technicality? “Is Killian your real name?”

I sound a touch panicked, and he gives me a measured look. “Yes, it’s my real name.”

The truck sways as we drive over a divot.

Killian braces his arm against the dash. “Look, can you pull over while we talk about this? I’d rather not end up in a ditch.”