He was pleased to see the blonde waiting on customers in the drive-in section of the eatery, and he parked next to an intercom, hoping she might deliver his order. After a short wait, he saw her exit the building and held his breath as she skated along the median. She slowed in front of his truck. A rosy blush touched her cheeks as she approached his lowered driver’s window, which made his stomach clench. He hoped she wasn’t embarrassed about seeing him again.

“Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “I didn’t expect to see you back at work this soon. How are you doing? I hope you didn’t get hurt the other night.”

She propped the food tray on his window. “I’m okay. A few bruises, nothing more. It was scary coming back, but my dad says the only way for me to move beyond it is to climb back in the saddle.”

Kennedy had heard that old cowboy adage all his life. “It has to be hard, though.”

The color in her cheeks deepened. Kennedy spent a moment admiring her eyes, which were blue and defined by lashes a shade darker than her golden hair. He appreciated that she wore little, if any, makeup. She was pretty without it. “Yes. It has been hard. But facing stuff instead of running from it is always the wiser choice.” She toyed with the collar of her white, short-sleeve blouse and cast a nervous glance over her shoulder as a car pulled in across from him. “I’m glad you stopped by, because I wanted to thank you for helping me. I don’t even know your name, so I couldn’t try to contact you.”

“Kennedy Fitzgerald. But no thanks are necessary. It was no big deal.”

She glanced at his head. Kennedy had tried to hide the shaved place with a comb-over, which Wyatt said made him look like Donald Trump.

“You were hurt. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s nothing much.”

She fiddled with her collar again. “I’d like to talk some more, but I’m on the clock. Would you mind giving me your number? That way I can call and thank you properly. Maybe treat you to a movie or something.”

Kennedy was charmed by her innocent overture of friendliness, but he was also alarmed by his reaction to her. She was way too young for him. “That would be fun.”

As if she guessed his thoughts, she said, “I’m a senior, about to graduate, and almost eighteen.”

Almost wasn’t good enough for Kennedy. Even when she turned eighteen, he’d still be four, almost five, years older. And he’d learned the hard way that brushing elbows with trouble could rub off on a guy in unpleasant ways. Nevertheless, he gave her his number, pausing between digits as she entered each one into her phone.

“Thanks,” she said as she skated back to the median. “My name’s Jenette Johnson. I’ll be in touch!”

Kennedy’s appetite for the hamburger and fries was ruined. He couldn’t get involved with her. No way. Then he realized she’d forgotten to make him pay for the food. “Hey, wait! What do I owe you?”