But that’s inexcusably selfish. I was there for my clients, not for me.
“We’re not taking a detour train to a Christmas town,” he says, grabbing the door for me. The snow has picked up, and a flurry slaps me in the face on our way to the car.
“I know,” I say.Maybe in another life.
I’m only a step out of the diner when I hit a patch of ice. I slip, my foot going out from under me, but before I can fall, Ollie catches me under my arms, his hands firm and sure, steadying me against his chest. For a heartbeat, I’m pressed against him, close enough to feel the solid warmth of him through my coat. His grip tightens slightly, making sure I’ve got my footing before he lets go.
“You okay?”
His concern makes my heart pinch, not because it’shim, but because it’s so rare for anyone to notice when I slip, let alone catch me when I fall.
Calm down, Crazy Pants, I tell myself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nice save.”
I keep my voice light, but my pulse is still racing when I climb into the car and buckle up. Ollie inputs our destination.
“Okay, with the delay coming out of Denver, Rochester is over twenty-four hours away, and it’s almost four p.m. local time. I can maybe go another six hours if I push it.” I bite my lip as I look at the map. “Where are we going to stop to sleep?”
“I’d rather drive through the night.”
I look both ways before getting onto the road. “I thought you didn’t feel comfortable driving.”
“Shoot,” he mutters, taking out his phone. I turn onto the highway while he searches on his phone. “Kansas City is 570 miles. Can you make it?”
I feel my forehead scrunch. It’s six p.m. my time, and I’m already tired, but I hate telling him no. “That’s a lot of miles. Over nine hours with stops.”
“How many stops are you planning to make?” he asks.
“As many as it takes not to fall asleep on the road,” I say.
“I can help keep you awake,” he says.
I sigh. Getting home for his brother’s wedding means a lot to him. It doesn’t matter that I’m already yawning from barely sleeping last night. “Fine,” I say.
Ollie goes silent. He doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. But he plugs a new destination into the GPS on my phone. A moment later, the voice says,
“Continue on SH-86 for the next 52 miles. Then take a right for I-70 E for 349 miles until you reach Salina, Kansas.”
I risk a peek at Fletch, who doesn’t look back. His profile is sharp in the low sunlight, and I catch myself staring at his nose—slightly crooked, like it’s been broken before. Somehow it makes him more attractive, not less.
“Should take right around six hours fifteen minutes with stops,” he says, looking out the window. “If you get tired before then, the only options are murder motels, so stay alert.”
Oh my goodness.
My heart flutters as I look at him again, catching the way he tenses his jaw when he’s being unexpectedly kind.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Ollie Fletcher had a soft side.
Either way, he isn’t the Grinch he pretends to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FLETCH
I’m not the most thoughtful guy in the world, but it feels rude to message with Grace while Poppy’s stuck driving. Not that I could text comfortably, what with my shoulder pinned to the door and my knees jammed against the glove compartment.
Can I help it that I’m itching to tell Grace about this insane road trip? We don’t share a lot of details about our lives, but Poppy begging me to let us take a detour to see the “World’s Largest Ball of Twine” is testing my limits.
She leans forward, her shoulders tense as she focuses on the road.
