1
Leighton
There were exactly three things wrong with my life at seven forty-two on a Tuesday morning.
One: I was in a brand-new city where I knew exactly one person.
Two: my GPS had already passive-aggressively informed me that I was "rerouting" six times, as if the navigation lady was personally offended by my inability to master the local highway system.
And three: I was currently sitting at a red light in my beat-up sedan, dressed in an oversized university hoodie, tiny sleep shorts, and fuzzy socks shoved into Birkenstocks. To top it all off, my mascara was definitely from the day before, and I was in the middle of aggressively inhaling a breakfast burrito.
So, naturally…
That was the exact moment the hottest man I’d ever seen in my life pulled up into the lane beside me.
I heard his truck before I actually saw it. It wasn’t just a loud engine; it was a rhythmic, guttural rumble that seemed to vibrate right through the frame of my car. It was one of those massive, lifted black diesel trucks—the kind that looked like it belonged on a remote, muddy trail, not idling in the middle of suburban morning traffic.
Curiosity got the better of me. I glanced over, expecting a grumpy construction worker or someone in a hurry.
Bad idea. Very bad idea.
The driver was… ridiculous. Even sitting down, the man was clearly massive. He had dark, tousled curls spilling out from beneath a backward black baseball cap. His left arm was draped casually over the open window, displaying a sleeve of intricate tattoos that made my breath hitch for a split second. He had broad shoulders that strained against his shirt, sun-kissed skin, and a sharp, well-defined jawline.
And his eyes. They were a shade of blue that looked almost fake, sharp and piercing through the morning light.
He caught me staring.
My eyes widened in panic, but he didn't look away. Instead, his mouth slowly tipped into the most devastating, confident smirk I’d ever seen.
Dimples. The man had deep, gorgeous dimples.
I froze. Completely.
Unfortunately, my motor skills were failing me, because I still had half of my breakfast burrito hanging out of my mouth.
"Oh my God," I hissed.
I yanked the burrito away so fast that a stray piece of scrambled egg tumbled out and landed right in my lap. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The gorgeous stranger watched the entire pathetic display from his high vantage point. Instead of being polite and looking away, he just smiled wider.
I scrambled for the stack of napkins sitting on my passenger seat, frantically wiping salsa off the corner of my mouth while staring straight ahead, desperately pretending I wasn’t dying of embarrassment inside.
The light stayed red. Of course it did. It felt like it had been red for an eternity.
I refused to look at him again. I stared at the back of the sedan in front of me until my eyes burned. But five seconds later, like a moth to a flame, I looked.
He was still looking at me. Still smiling. Still somehow managing to look like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover. He lifted his coffee cup toward me in a slow, playful salute.
Cheers.
Heat flooded my cheeks, burning all the way to my ears. Without even thinking, I awkwardly lifted my partially eaten breakfast burrito in return.
He blinked, surprised, and then he laughed. It wasn't loud or mocking; it was a genuine, low sound that made his shoulders shake and those stupidly attractive dimples deepen. He leaned over, mouthing something through the glass. I couldn't hear a word with the windows up, but it looked suspiciously like, "Good?"
I stared at my mangled burrito. Then back at him. Then, in a moment of pure, unadulterated social failure, I gave him a tiny, slow thumbs-up.
Why? Why did I do that?
He threw his head back and laughed for real then. The light finally flickered to green. Thank God. I hit the gas a little too enthusiastically, and my tiny car lurched forward with an embarrassing, high-pitched squeak.
His truck rolled forward beside me with effortless power. For just a second, we were side-by-side again. He glanced over one last time, that cocky, playful grin still plastered on his face. Then, he tapped his blinker and turned right at the next intersection.
And he was gone.
I let out the breath I’d been holding until my lungs ached.
"Oh my gosh…" I muttered, dropping my forehead against the steering wheel for a second while stopped at the next light. "Way to make a stellar first impression, Leighton."
I could still see his smile in my mind. Those piercing blue eyes. Those stupid, adorable dimples. And the crushing realization that he’d caught me looking like an absolute gremlin while inhaling breakfast.
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.
Twenty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the hotel where I’d be staying until my lease officially started. I killed the engine and stared up at the building.
"This is it," I whispered.
A fresh start. A new city. A new apartment. Well, eventually. My place wouldn't be ready for another three days, so I was living out of a suitcase until then. Not exactly the grand, cinematic move-in I’d pictured, but it could’ve been worse.
I climbed out, stretched my stiff, sore back, and felt a tiny surge of optimism. The air here smelled different—warmer, cleaner, more hopeful. I walked around to the trunk and popped it open.
Three suitcases. Two oversized duffel bags. A box full of shoes. A bulky hanging garment bag. I stared at the sheer volume of my belongings and frowned.
"…Maybe I did overpack."
Just a little. Okay, a lot. Megan had warned me, of course. “Leighton, you do not need seventeen pairs of shoes,” she’d said.
Excuse her. What if I had an event? Or a spontaneous night out? Or a date?
I snorted at myself. Right. Like I was going on a date. I hadn't even been in town an hour, and I’d already sabotaged my romantic life with a piece of scrambled egg.
I wrestled one of the giant suitcases onto the sidewalk, grunting as the wheels hit the concrete, before grabbing my phone and hitting Call on the contact labeled: MEGAN ❤️.
She answered on the second ring. "You made it!"
"Barely," I replied, huffing.
She laughed. "You sound exhausted."
"I’ve been driving for six hours, Meg. And I also just embarrassed myself in front of probably the hottest man on planet Earth."
There was a beat of silence on the other end. "…I’m sorry, what?"
I leaned against the side of my car and let out a long, dramatic sigh. "It was nothing."
"Leighton, you cannot just drop that and walk away."
"I was eating," I confessed.
"…Okay?"
"A breakfast burrito. At a stoplight."
Megan let out a sharp, anticipating laugh. "Mhm. Go on."
"He pulled up beside me. I looked over. He looked over. I got caught stuffing my face."
She burst into full-on cackling.
"Megan! Don't you dare," I warned, though a smile was already tugging at my lips.
"I’m sorry! I’m just trying to picture the scene. It’s too good."
"It gets worse."
"It gets worse than the egg-in-the-lap scenario?"
"He smiled. He had dimples, Meg. Deep ones."
"Oh, you're in trouble," she teased. "She's in deep."
"I am not in trouble. I just noticed a guy's features."
"You never notice features, Leighton. You’re oblivious."
I rolled my eyes, dragging my suitcase toward the lobby. "He was driving a giant, lifted truck. And he was… annoyingly attractive."
She gasped. "You just admitted someone is attractive! You never do that."
"I have eyes, don't I?"
"So, what happened? Did you get a number? A name?"
"Nothing," I said. "The light turned green, he laughed at me, and he drove away. That’s it."
There was a brief pause, and then Megan’s voice shifted, turning softer and more knowing. "So… why are you smiling?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "I’m not smiling."
"You definitely are. I can hear it in your voice."
I looked down at the pavement, realizing she was right. I was, in fact, grinning like an idiot. "He just… he seemed really sweet, okay?"
"Aww. My sister's got a crush."
"Don't make it weird."
"I am absolutely going to make it weird," she promised.
I laughed despite myself. "Anyway, what's up?"
"Luke and I want you to come over tonight," she said. "Nothing crazy. Just a few of the guys from the team coming over for drinks."
"The baseball team?" I groaned. "Meg, I’ve been in town for less than an hour. I don't know anyone. I’ll just be the awkward tag-along."
"You’ll survive, Leighton. I want everyone to meet my sister."
My heart softened at her tone. "You really missed me that much?"
"I’ve missed you every single day since I moved," she admitted.
That hit home. When Megan had moved away a few months ago, it was the first time we’d lived in different cities in our entire lives. She wasn't just my sister; she was my best friend. The move had been terrifying, but the thought of being close to her again made every mile of the drive worth it.
"Fine," I sighed, already conceding. "I’ll come."
She squealed into the phone. "I knew you’d say yes."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't. Love you, sis."
"Love you too."
She hung up, and I slid my phone back into my pocket. Maybe this wouldn't be so scary after all. Maybe I could actually build a life here.
And maybe… just maybe… I’d never have to see the ridiculously attractive truck guy again. Which was honestly for the best, because I was fairly certain I could never look at a breakfast burrito again without blushing.
