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“Probably needs a patch. Worst case, a replacement,” I answer with a shrug. These sorts of things always happen right after buying a new full set, but I have a tire guy in Napa.

Mick is definitely not needed.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

“Why do you keep apologizing?”

“I don’t know. It happened because you wanted to take me here.”

“It’s not your fault. I could have picked it up at the vineyard,” I lie. The tire pressure sensors would have noticed by the time we got here and alerted me, but I don’t tell her that. It’s purely a headache—nothing more. “I brought snacks and drinks.”

“Oh, fun!” she replies. I pop open the tailgate and throw an oversized outdoor blanket over the bed of the truck and toss in a few pillows from home. “So cozy.”

I double-check the parking brake from the cab before helping her into the back of the bed. “Foot on the bumper. Swing your other leg up,” I instruct.

“I got it,” she says. As she puts her other leg on the open tailgate, I palm her ass. “E!” she squeals, making me laugh. From that angle, I could have looked up her dress, but I didn’t. I’m questionable at best, but not a pig.

We settle against the pillows with our shoes off, resting on the tailgate, our long legs tangling together without meaning to. Being this close, I can smell the citrus on her. I’m starting to associate the scent with her, even when she’s not around. “Cheers,” I say, tapping my plastic cup filled with red wine against hers.

“Cheers.” She takes a sip. “God, even your feet are tattooed.” I glance down at her tanned feet with perfectly painted toes compared to my well-kept, ink-covered feet. “I thought I had big feet for a girl, but look how much bigger yours are.”

I laugh with her. “It’s because we’re tall.”

“I feel like feet would hurt so bad to tattoo.”

“It was. Ankles and feet were rough.” I can’t stop my shoulders from shuddering. “Especially the inner ankle.”

“Then why do it?” she asks.

“Because I couldn’t stop. I wanted everything covered.”

Her eyes dart to my crotch. “Even your…?” she interrupts.

“No. Jesus, no. I was addicted and still am, and I get my tattoos touched up every so often. A little more highlight here, a little more shading there. The ones on my hands and fingers need touch-ups more than the others.” I glance at my tattooed knuckles, holding my plastic cup.

No regrets.

“It’s totally rude to ask, but you must’ve spent so much on tattoos.”

“It’s just money. I can always make more.”

“So, you’re not greedy?” she asks.

“I mean, I save, I invest. I paid this thing off and plan to keep it as long as I can,” I reply and tap the side of the truck’s bed.

“And you bought your house?”

“Yep, renting didn’t make sense. I bought that place at the right time, too. The rates and property values are much higher now than they were.”

She glances down at her hand, holding her plastic cup. “I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

“You don’t have to right now. I pay extra on my mortgage every month to save on interest in the long run. It’ll still take another twenty years to pay my house off, but most people are in that boat. I have good equity in it now if I wanted to sell.”

Tilly sighs. “Were you nervous to finance that much? I haven’t seen your place, but I can only guess how much you spent being in Napa.”

I chuckle under my breath. “It’s public info, Tilly.” Like how I found out so much about you. “Anyway, no, I wasn’t. Comparing the monthly payment to rental rates was nuts and gave me the motivation to sign. I’d like to find a fixer-upper to fix up and rent out for passive income. Or invest in another business. Diversifying is the best thing anyone can do right now.”

“I feel like I need to bow down to you because you have this whole adulting thing figured out.”