Chesapeake Tide by Jeanette Baker

released her breath. The driver was a boy, near her age with straight black hair, dark, hooded eyes and a face so sharp and severe and beautiful it could have graced the cover of a magazine.
    He leaned across the seat and opened the door. “Need a ride?”
    Chloe climbed into the truck and pulled the door shut. “Thanks.”
    He nodded.
    â€œI’m going to the hardware store in Marshyhope Creek,” she volunteered.
    With one hand on the wheel, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it in the corner of his mouth and pushed in the lighter on the dashboard. “Who are you?”
    â€œChloe Richards.”
    â€œYou’re new here.”
    It was a statement, not a question.
    â€œI’m not staying,” she said quickly. “My grandparents live here. My mom came to visit because my grandmother had a stroke.”
    He bent his head to light the end of a cigarette, drew in and exhaled. Her heart flipped.
    â€œCole Delacourte’s your granddaddy.”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    â€œNola Ruth’s the only lady I know in Marshyhope Creek who had a stroke.”
    â€œWho are you?” Chloe countered.
    â€œBailey Jones.” He pulled out on to the road. “Where ya from?”
    â€œCalifornia.”
    â€œHollywood?”
    â€œNo, but close enough. Hollywood isn’t all that great.” She looked around. “I guess if you lived here all your life, it might seem great.”
    He grinned and Chloe’s eyes widened.
    â€œIt might at that,” he said.
    â€œWhere do you live?” she asked.
    â€œOutside town.”
    â€œDo you go to school?”
    Again he grinned. “Now and then.”
    Chloe’s heart pounded. “How old are you?”
    â€œEighteen.”
    She relaxed. Eighteen she could handle. “I really appreciate the ride.”
    He glanced down at her shoes. “You wouldn’t get very far in those. I’m surprised they let you out dressed like that.”
    Chloe flushed. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
    He shrugged. “It’s twelve noon, hotter’n a fry station, and you don’t have anything on. You’d likely have passed out from heat stroke if I hadn’t stopped.”
    â€œSo, this is an act of mercy.”
    â€œWhat did you expect? I’m not into cradle robbing, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    â€œI wasn’t thinking anything of the sort,” Chloe snapped. She couldn’t help adding, “You’re not all that much older than me.
    â€œHow old are you?”
    â€œNone of your business.”
    â€œFair enough.” The cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. A breeze blew his hair back from his forehead. He tapped the steering wheel and whistled in time to the music coming from the radio, a song Chloe had never heard of. He didn’t look at all offended.
    She stared out the window, cheeks burning.
    â€œDidn’t anybody ever tell you not to hitch rides with strangers?” he said when the song was over. “I coulda been an ax murderer or a rapist.”
    Chloe snorted. “Please. I’m from Los Angeles. I’d know a rapist if I saw one. You’re definitely not the type.”
    He raised one eyebrow. “What type am I?”
    â€œThe dumb, naive type. My friends and I would eat you for breakfast.”
    â€œWhatever you’re into, I guess,” he said amiably. “You could be wrong.”
    â€œNot a chance. You already made your first impression.”
    â€œSo, I’m stuck with dumb and naive?”
    Chloe almost smiled but caught herself in time. “That’s right.”
    â€œI don’t understand the part about eating me for breakfast. Is that some California joke?”
    â€œIt means you aren’t up to speed. No one who is anyone would associate with you.”
    â€œI get it.” He chuckled. “Maybe Marshyhope Creek and California aren’t