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I looked into her bright brown eyes. They’d been perceptive before, but also darting with the anxiety and freneticism of a college student. Now, those eyes didn’t look so young. Their flickering had slowed. I felt a pang of guilt at this until I realized that it wasn’t a loss of youth, but a gaining of maturity.
There was some activity around us — a few families moving in and out of their tents, sitting in lawn chairs and chatting quietly. I suppose they’d carved a special path for the RVs to drive down and camp in the woods. It was quaint and endearing. I expected to see someone roll out fake grass and a fence in front of their trailer.
Silently, I mourned the loss of my Airstream. That thing was a beaut, and it’d taken me ages to refurbish it. Of course, I’d saved what was most important from the trailer — Phoebe. Now, I supposed, I would just have the chance to start fresh — rehab something else, begin a new project. It was daunting, yes, but also a little thrilling. A new project, a new city, a new life.
“This is a good spot,” she said.
I pointed to the ground. “You mean to set up the tent?”
“Yeah, that too.” She paused and kicked up some dirt with her blackened shoe. “But I meant a good spot in my life. To start fresh. To try to be me all over again.”
“How did I get so lucky?” I asked, baffled by my own good fortune.
She rolled her eyes and blushed. “Maybe it’s all that Texan charm.”
“Naw. I think it’s cuz I’m so damn handsome.”
She looped her arms around my shoulder, and, into my ear, murmured, “Well, that doesn’t hurt, either. The faster you set up that tent, the faster I can show you my particular East Coast charms, if you catch my drift.”
Suddenly, all the loop and knobs fell into place, as if by magic. Guess I just needed a little push, eh?
I stepped back, surveying the pop-up palace.
“Your chariot,” I said to Phoebe, waving my hand at the tent which had sprung up within a minute flat.
She grinned, and climbed inside.
CHAPTER 30
Phoebe
THE TENT was small but cozy, gray nylon walls, a navy bottom, with a little net zip closure as an entryway. If I closed my eyes, I could picture it covered in rose petals, heaps of blankets, pillows. If I closed my eyes, I could see a whole home.
“Come on in,” I said to Carter, who was still stationed outside the tent.
“Can we both fit?” he asked, a little nervous.
A fair enough question. Carter was well over six feet and muscular. If he flexed too hard, the tent might rip apart.
“We’ll just have to snuggle real close.”
A leg appeared, then an arm, and then his whole body was slipping inside with a surprising grace. He immediately went to his knees, as the ceiling was about half his height.
“We don’t have any sleeping bags,” he said apologetically, as though it were his fault.
I tilted forward, rising to my knees to meet him. “I don’t care.”
“Or pillows.”
“Who needs pillows?”
“Or—”
I put a finger over his mouth. “We don’t need anything. We have each other.”
He looked around, still hesitant. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get anything nicer, or more, y’know, romantic.”
“Carter.”
“What?”
I shook my head. “Stop apologizing. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
My hand went to his shoulder. At some point, his shirt had been seared open by the flames, and I could see his tanned skin through a hole in the sleeve.
“I got you into this mess,” he said at last, looking miserable.
“And I’m glad you did,” I replied. “You trusted me enough to bring me in. That’s all I’ve ever wanted — trust. Faith.”
“You’re just being nice.”
“I promise, I’m not. I spent a lot of my time in Rough and Ready trying not to be with you, trying to resist your pull. Now that I’ve given in… well, now I feel at peace. And nothing’s going to disturb that.” I added with a laugh, “Not even your fretting.”
Carter took this in, his large hands splayed across his thighs. “And you really love me?” he murmured, brown eyes finding mine.
“I love you,” I repeated. “I love you, I love you, I love you. And I don’t understand how love works this fast, but I also know that it’s real, it’s happening, and I have the grace to accept even that which I can’t analyze. I might be a psych major, but sometimes, the workings of the heart can and should be a mystery.”
“And you don’t care that I’m just a lowly mechanic?” he asked.
“You work hard, Carter. You provide for your son, and hell, you’re a single father. Nothing about you is ‘low.’”
“I love you too,” he said in a soft voice.
We hesitated, staring into one another’s eyes, knowing that this moment would count in the long run, that we had to get it absolutely right.
