Run To You

have a baby like her mother. Even after she moved out and lived in Vegas, her grandmother’s cautions and rules still played in her head. In her early twenties, she’d come close to giving it up several times but had always stopped. She’d discovered ways of intimacy while technically keeping her virginity. She knew what some people thought about that. That there was no such thing as a “technical virgin,” but she didn’t care what other people thought and felt. She was twenty-eight. She’d waited this long, and if she wanted to save sexual intercourse for marriage, she would.
    She didn’t have a lot. Only herself. She was the only thing that she had to give to the man she would love forever.

Chapter Seven
    S tella held her grande caramel macchiato to-go in front of her mouth. The scented steam rose from the small black opening and fogged her sunglasses while a steady crunch, crunch, crunch from the other side of the car filled her ears. She’d never seen anyone eat an apple like that. She never knew an apple could be that loud . This was not the same man who’d eaten at his mother’s table the night before. This was not the man who placed his napkin in his lap and used the right fork. This was a man who ate like he had five minutes to get as much as he could in his stomach. This was a Marine who had three dead apple cores lined up on the console between the leather seats. Crunch . His mother was right. He was a hog. Although hearing his nice, polite mother call him out on it was a bit of a shock. Not quite as shocking as watching him hog down his apples, though.
    Stella took a sip of her coffee and choked mid-swallow when he hit the window button and tossed one core after another out onto I–10. “You’re littering,” she pointed out as she wiped a drop of caramel macchiato from her chin. If he made her get a drop of coffee on her white tank top she was going to kill him.
    He glanced at her through his mirrored sunglasses, then back at the interstate. “Biodegradable material.”
    “It’s still littering.”
    He shook his head as he hit the button and closed the window. “Given the heat and humidity and the number of times those cores will be run over, they’ll completely decompose in a few days. If not, animals will cart them off.”
    Her mouth dropped open a little. “You’re luring wild animals onto the highway.”
    His answer was a slight shrug of one big shoulder. His black polo shirt matched his black heart.
    “There’s probably a law against that.”
    “Probably.” He reached for his own coffee in the cup holder and took a few gulps. “Are you going to make a citizen’s arrest?”
    She sat back and folded one arm under her breasts. “Of course not. I just don’t think you should lure little wild animals to certain death.”
    “Are you doing that thing where you think you’re being funny?”
    She frowned. “No.” Some things weren’t funny. Like certain death for critters.
    He laughed and rested his cup on the knee of his khaki cargo pants. “Too bad. You’re actually funny this time.”
    Stella frowned and turned her attention to the highway divided by a grassy median. A forest jam-packed with pine trees bordered each side, and sure enough, on the shoulder lay a sad gray lump. “Look,” she pointed out. “A poor little opossum. Lured to its death by irresistible apple cores.”
    “That isn’t an opossum. It looks like a neck pillow.”
    “Oh.” She took a closer look as they whizzed past and hated that he was probably right. Not that she preferred a dead animal, but . . . “Well, littering is tacky, whether it’s ‘biodegradable material’ or pillows.”
    “Pillow probably just flipped out of the back of someone’s truck and they didn’t know it until they got home. Now they’re screwed because they have a stiff neck and no pillow.” He paused, then added, “Of course, it might have seen an irresistible apple core and jumped to certain death.”
    She looked across at Captain Smartass. “You’re unusually chatty this morning.”
    “You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m ‘unusually chatty.’ ”
    That was true. “I know you well enough to miss your grumpy side.” Which wasn’t true.
    He glanced at her, then back at the interstate. “I’m not grumpy.” He drifted into the right lane and dropped his free hand to the bottom of the leather-covered wheel. “Not usually, at any rate. But you’re fairly annoying.”
    “Me?” She pointed