“How did you end up in Indianapolis?”
“Work,” I say simply.
Jacob fidgets with the keys in his hand, and I know I should just relent and let him take me home. I have no reason not to trust him to drive me and drop me off. I can be irrationally stubborn from time to time and accepting a ride home from Jacob doesn't mean anything.
It's not like I'm asking him to come over and help me take care of the horses. Needing a ride home from the bar when I was ditched by a so-called friend is no reflection of my ability to take care of the farm. Yep, that's stubbornness making me not want to take any favors from Jacob Harris.
“What do you do for work?” Jacob asks. “You said you work from home.”
“I'm a data analyzer for a pharmaceutical company. It's not the most exciting thing, but it pays my bills.”
“It must be nice to be able to stay home,” he adds, just trying to be polite.
“Oh, it definitely is. It's a little easier now that Everly is older, but when she was younger it was a godsend to be able to be home to get her on the bus in the mornings and be there when she got off.”
“I can only imagine,” Jacob says. “My sister has a kid,” he goes on, sharing a bit more of his personal life with me. “She just recently returned back to work, and I know how hard it is for her to try to coordinate childcare even working part-time.”
“The workforce really isn't set up for mothers,” I say realizing I'm teetering on the edge of going off on a rant here. “Especially single mothers.” The wind blows again, rustling my hair and making me visibly shiver.
“It really isn't a big deal if I drop you off on my way home,” Jacob presses. I'm sure he wants to get out of here just as much as I do.
“Fine,” I huff, not meaning to sound as ungrateful as I just did. “I mean, thank you. I wasn't sure what a night out with Poppy would entail, but I certainly didn't anticipate getting ditched at the bar.”
Jacob laughs. “I can't tell you what I would have anticipated with a night out with her either, but I don't expect anything else from my brother.”
“Do you see your siblings often?”
“No, not really. My sister and her husband visit more than my brothers, but I think that's mostly because my mom would kill her if she didn't bring the only grandchild in the family home at least every other month. Mason just shows up whenever he can. I wasn't even expecting to see him tonight,” Jacob admits.
“Chicago isn’t too far,” I go on. “But it's not a drive I would be wanting to make regularly.”
“Right. My brother who lives there is a doctor, so his work schedule is pretty busy too.”
“My sister-in-law is a doctor in Chicago too. Small world, right?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” He hits the unlock button and the lights on a red truck flash. It's not his usual truck he drives, full of all of his medical supplies. It makes sense, not to drive your work car around when you're not at work. He opens the passenger door for me and waits until I get in so he can shut it as well.
“Thank you,” I tell Jacob once he gets in the truck. “It’s already late and walking would’ve taken forever.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Jacob starts the truck.
“Well, I really appreciate it. I know you didn’t have to.”
Jacob glances at me as he backs out of the parking spot. “You sound surprised. Do you really think I was just going to leave you there?”
“I… I don’t know,” I say as I nervously twist my hair around my fingers.
“I wouldn’t have,” he presses. “You might not think so, but I am a decent person.”
“You know anyone who has to say they’re a decent person probably isn’t,” I add pointedly. Jacob finishes backing out of the parking spot and puts the truck in drive. The tires crunch over the gravel, and his handsome face becomes stern with annoyance. A few minutes of silence awkwardly passes between us. The more I think about it, the more awkward it feels, making me desperate to say something just to fill the silence.
“Your truck is really clean,” I blurt, and then mentally wince at my words.
“I don’t drive this one too often,” he tells me. “I’m usually in my work truck.”
“Well, that’s one way to keep your car clean, right? Just don’t drive it.” Light from a streetlamp illuminates the cab of the truck, and I see him smile.
“Right, nothing like being a workaholic.”
“Yeah, you do seem to work a lot. Hopefully, you like what you do,” I say, though my statement is more of a question.