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I blew out a breath before starting in again. “Okay, well, I have a cell phone if you want to look up some places to stay while you are in town. Most will be fairly inexpensive this time of year since it’s not peak season.”
    All coldness washed away from him and he smirked. “I have a phone.”
    Drawing my eyebrows together, I said, “You do?”
    “Yes, of course, I do. What do you think I am, homeless?”
    Truth be told, I suppose I did. I couldn’t even fathom that a person would hitchhike out in the cold mountains just for the fun of it. Not unless they were crazy.
    Leaning forward, Dawson said dryly, “Pretty sure if I listen close enough, I could hear you thinking.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You have got to be the easiest person I’ve ever come across to read.”
    Offended, I slumped back in my seat. “You don’t even know me. So don’t assume you can read me.”
    “Well, you did, didn’t you?”
    “I did what?”
    “You thought I was homeless.”
    Before answering him, I attempted to read him right back. Nothing. His face was expressionless and stoic. He was giving me nothing! “Maybe.”
    He chuckled, and despite my frustration, it was a sweet sound to my ears. “Well, I’m not.”
    I watched him this time, without reservation, and with more inquisition. Who was this person? Why was he getting rides from total strangers? Didn’t he know that was dangerous? Clearly he would, although, the sheer size of him alone would probably deter anybody from trying anything funny. All of these questions swirled around in my head, and they were on the tip of my tongue. Fortunately for him, the elderly woman came back to our table just before I was about to let them come tumbling out. I had no clue how such a small woman could carry that tray. It was about as big as she was. Gently, she placed our bowls in front of us and refilled our drinks.
    “Careful, the bowls are hot. Y’all need anything else?”
    “No, thank you,” Dawson answered politely.
    She smiled and walked away.
    “Soooo . . .” I started saying between blowing breaths on my steaming soup.
    “No.” He opened his mouth and inserted his spoon. I watched with rapt attention as his lips closed over it and his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed. “No more questions, Chandler.”
    It was the first time since I’d given him my name that he’d said it aloud. “You remembered.”
    He hit me with a pointed stare, but then looked back down at his food and continued to eat. The way he’d said my name caused me to shiver. Picking up my grilled cheese, I took a tentative bite and set it back down. Whatever appetite I had before was now gone. His elusiveness irritated me, as well as his reluctance to answer a simple question. Wiping my mouth, I set my napkin on the table and rested my hands back in my lap.
    He stopped with his sandwich near his mouth. “Why aren’t you eating?”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    Reaching across the table, Dawson pushed my bowl a little closer to me. “Eat,” he demanded.
    “Excuse me?”
    His unreadable face now appeared exasperated. “We stopped because you wanted food, and you’ve barely taken a bite. Eat.”
    Okay, I didn’t care how attractive he was or what his excuse was for needing a ride; nobody told me what to do. Pushing the bowl back a couple of inches past its original spot, I raised my brow and said, “I’m good . . . thanks.”
    His brown eyes met mine head-on. There was so much expression in that one look. There was a battle of wills happening here, and I was bending without even realizing I was doing it. Hungry or not, my insides quivered and I wanted to do whatever he was telling me to. I mean, anything. If he asked me to lay across the table and moan, I would. I didn’t understand it, but right now, it didn’t matter. Scowling at him, I pulled the soup back toward me and started eating again. Never once in my life had I allowed someone I barely knew to dictate what I did. I