“You can’t upload photos of me without a photo release.”

“Well, I did. What are you going to do about it?”

Jake snatches my phone.

“Hey!”

He tucks it under his leg.

“Not cool. Give it back.”

“No. Taking my picture without permission and posting it to Snapchat is what’s not cool.”

I cross my arms and stare out my window the rest of the way to Chicago.

“Where are we?”

“Grocery store. Go get what you need.” He unlocks the door.

“What I need?”

“Food, Avery. It’s a grocery store. Or do you have a personal shopper who gets your groceries?”

“No. My personal shopper—ex-personal shopper—mainly bought my clothes.”

“Christ …” He shakes his head.

“Aren’t you getting anything? Where are we going for lunch? Chicago has some great restaurants. Did you call ahead for reservations? Am I just getting snacks here or what?”

“Whatever you need to survive for the next forty-eight hours. I have a blender, and I’ll start a fire. You didn’t bring a cooler, but I might let you rent some space in mine.” He smiles. It’s much sweeter than his words. Satan—totally Satan.

“We’re in Chicago. Why would we camp in Chicago? There are hundreds of hotels.”

“Skip along, Princess. I don’t want to spend the whole day in this parking lot.”

“My phone.” I hold out my hand.

He slides it out from under his leg. I drop it in my purse, pausing to gather my emotions that have been all over the place.

“Avery Montgomery.” I hold out my hand.

Jake stares at it then at me.

“Let’s rewind and start over. I fear your first impression of me was inaccurate. I just came off a bad breakup. If my anti-male vibe rubbed you the wrong way and therefore caused you to act a little douchey toward me, I understand.”

He nods slowly, taking my proffered hand. “Jake Matthews.”

“Nice to meet you, Jake. Thank you for the ride. You are a lifesaver.”

A tiny line creases along the bridge of his nose, a residual sign of his unease. His distrust. I don’t let it phase me. This trip doesn’t have to be miserable for either one of us. I’ll show him every assumption he made about me is wrong.

“You’re welcome.”

I grin. It feels good to smile. It feels good to start again on the right foot. “I’ll be quick. Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

Shedding the weight of the world, I inhale the summer air, toss my hair over my shoulders, and make my way into the store.

Fifteen minutes later, I push my cart into the checkout line. The cashier scans my necessities, and I swipe my card.

Declined.

My lips twist. I try the card again.

Declined.

“I’m from out of town. I should have informed my credit card company.”