Not even a chance.

Because if they knew I spent my first day in Port Snow trapped in a car and bleeding from my head because a moose decided to test the boundaries of spatial awareness with vehicles, they would be flying out to Maine tomorrow to take me home.

Nope, they don’t need to know about that little incident, or the stitches in my forehead, or the fact that I’m going to have to spend a nice little chunk of change fixing a car I just got. By some miracle, when I spoke briefly with the automotive shop, they said that little cretin of a vehicle isn’t completely totaled. All it needs is some bodywork and a new radiator, and that’s it. What are the odds?

Inconvenient ones, that’s for sure.

“New to town?” the Uber driver asks, glancing in the rearview mirror as he hits the brakes at a four-way stop.

“Yes, just moved from Los Angeles.”

The driver nods. “You’re the woman Griffin Knightly saved, right? I can’t believe he rescued you from the treetops and swung from branch to branch to safety with you strapped to his back. The man is a real hero.”

Brow furrowed, I lean forward so I can hear him a little better. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, heard he grunted like Tarzan while doing it.” He shakes his head in amazement. “That Griffin Knightly, a true treasure in this town, at least when it comes to rescuing people. But even if you find his Tarzan ways attractive, I would stay far away from the man. He’s had a bad case of love.”

I pull on my ear, making sure I heard him correctly, unsure how to take any of it. “Swung from a branch? I think you might be mistaken, sir. He popped my window open and then carried me up a hill. There was no Tarzan swinging or clinging to his back.”

“Really?” The man’s eyes narrow before lighting up again. “Ahh, I like my story better. Has more flair.”

Flair, for sure, but completely and utterly wrong.

“Are you okay? Heard you had a concussion and five broken plates in your skull.”

Goodness, who is this man’s source?

“Not to be rude, but where are you getting this information from?”

“Oh, you know”—he waves his hand around—“here and there.”

“Well, your ‘here and there’ isn’t quite accurate. I just got a bump on the head and a few stitches, with a minor concussion. That’s all.”

“Huh, really?” He thinks about it for a second. “Broken brain plates sounds better, more traumatic. You should really stick with that story.”

This man is insane.

With the sun setting in the rearview mirror, he drives down a narrow road toward the edge of the water, little coastal houses on either side. A path at the end of the road leads to the beach, the waves reflecting hues of pink and orange from the sky. The scenery, the proximity to the beach, was one of the reasons I chose to rent the Alabaster Haven—not only because the name is a dream, but because it’s so close to the ocean.

“This is it, cute little . . . oh, look who it is: Tarzan himself.”

Huh?

I tear my eyes away from the ocean to find Griffin standing on the front porch of the little cottage, tall and handsome in a pair of worn jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt with a lobster on the front, which I notice squeezes his biceps. Oh my, how did I miss the fact that this man is a stone wall of muscle? Maybe because I was bordering the line between scared to death and hysterical.

I’ll be honest—despite my embarrassment over what happened, I’m not mad that he’s here. I’m just wondering why.

“Uh, thank you for the ride.”

“Not a problem. My name is Wallace, and there is one other guy who drives around town as well. Make sure to rate me five stars. Bart, the other driver—rate him as a four.” I slide out of the car, and he gives me a wink just before I shut the door. Only two Uber drivers? How does that work?

Trying not to think too much of it, I walk down the cute cobblestoned pathway that leads to the house, eyes trained on the man in front of me; he has his hands stuffed in his back pockets and a sincere expression on his face.

Shyly, I wave. “Hello again.”

“Hey.” He steps down from the porch, and that’s when I see my luggage, just like he promised. Oh, thank God. “How are you doing?”

The smooth rumble of his voice ignites a wave of heat inside of me. I try to act as casual as possible even though I’m wearing his shirt and have a giant bandage on my head, and only a few hours ago he saw me crazily pressing my bloody face against a car window.

“Good. A minor concussion and a few stitches, but nothing to worry about. I didn’t even think I had a concussion. I don’t remember blacking out. But you know what I do remember?” I shake my finger at him. “That moose. What kind of animal goes suicidal on a country road? I don’t get it.” Frazzled from seeing him again and suddenly self-conscious, I add, “Do you have a lot of moose like that around here? Risk-takers?”

The chuckle that resounds from his chest easily cloaks me with a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. “Risk-taking moose? Yeah, we do. A lot of the calls I get at the station have to do with cars and the moose popping out of nowhere. Although yours was the first car that was sandwiched between two trees and suspended off the ground. That was impressive. We took pictures for you, in case you wanted to see the type of driving you’re capable of.” He flashes me a smile, and a wave of butterflies takes flight in my stomach, sending my hormones into a frenzy. “But in all seriousness, you’re lucky you were able to somehow direct your car between the two trees. Not sure what the outcome would have been otherwise.” He smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

And my heart just leaped in my chest. He cares, and that’s really freaking sweet.

Should I thank him for his service? Ask him out? See if he wants to be my Tarzanlike nurse?

Slow down there, Ren. The man had to carry you out of your car today as you hysterically yelled you were going to die. Pretty sure the last thing on his mind is finding out your relationship status.

“I do feel really lucky.” Especially after what happened the last time I was in a car accident. “But the picture might be fun to look at sometime. I could stop by the station and thank you all properly for your help this week.” I try to put a light spin on the whole day. Honestly, if I think about it too much, I’ll start to have a panic attack, and that’s the last thing I need right now—especially in front of Griffin.

He rocks on his heels. “The guys would like that.” He nods toward the porch behind him. “Brought your luggage over. Your car has been towed to Brig’s, and if you need anything, I’m three doors down and across the street in that gray house with the shake shingles.” He leans over and points.

I follow his finger and spot a modest Cape Cod–style house with beautiful flower boxes, an American flag at a forty-five-degree angle, and a giant pine tree in the front, providing a blanket of shade beneath it.

“Wow, that’s a coincidence.”

“Yeah.” He eyes me. “Shouldn’t you have someone staying with you tonight since you have a concussion?”

I wave him off. “I didn’t get a concussion.”

“And yet the doctors thought you did.”

“I think they were trying to make things sound worse than they are. You know doctors, am I right?” I nudge him, and he doesn’t move.

Don’t touch him, Ren.

“Anyhoo, thanks for the ride up the hill and the luggage . . . how did you know I was living here?”

Bashfully he smiles. “News travels fast.”

I’m starting to learn that rather quickly. Which reminds me. I lean forward and look around to make sure there are no prying eyes or ears. “Is it normal for stories to be exaggerated in this town?”

He tilts his head back and laughs, the sound rich in my ears. “Yeah, the gossip train is a long one, so be careful what you say to anyone.” He pats me on the shoulder as he starts to walk by. “Welcome to Port Snow, Ren. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he takes off down the street, hands in his pockets, head tilted down. I take a few seconds to observe him, his long gait, the way his jeans fit snugly to his high, tight ass, and the broad shoulders that stretch his shirt wide, only to narrow down at his waist.

I might have entered Port Snow with a bang, but at least I was rescued by a man I don’t mind living a few houses down from.