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“Really?”
“I don’t read the letters,” she said. “I tear them up and throw them away, and I think if I really forgave her I’d be able to read them.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s your way of moving on. Those letters just keep the wound fresh.”
“Do you think?” she asked. “Really?”
“I think, really.”
Her smile was luminous. Honestly, so beautiful.
Fuck. He felt his body buzz. His brain flooded with images and ideas and he reached into his pocket for the pen she gave him and the napkin.
But then he stopped himself. He’d used enough of her pain as inspiration without her ever knowing it.
“Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I really unloaded on you there. Between the accident and then the pandemic and having a baby, I just haven’t done a whole lot of driving. So you calling me to come get you is kind of awesome, really. Pulled me right out of my comfort zone.”
“Well, our situation hasn’t changed. Someone has to drive us, and you’re clearly exhausted.”
“I am. Aren’t you, though?” she asked. “I mean, did you sleep at all last night?”
“No. I didn’t…”
“Then I should drive.”
“Well, I think the point I’m making is that neither of us should drive.”
“We could get a few hours sleep at a rest stop,” she said. “I used to do that all the time when I was driving home from school.”
He started shaking his head the second she said rest stop. “Helen, we can skip sleeping on the side of the road and we can also get a few hours’ sleep at a hotel.”
“Are you a snob? Too good to sleep at a rest stop?” She was teasing him and he loved it. No one teased him. They thought he was too serious or cool or some shit. But here she was, so tired she was punch drunk, and teasing him.
“No. I’ve done it plenty. Too much. So, I know it’s total garbage. Don’t try and make it like I’m the strange one here,” he teased her back and pulled out his phone. With the last of his battery, he found the nearest hotel and got them two rooms. “Come on. A couple hours sleep and a shower is just ten miles north.”
“That’s the wrong direction,” she said.
“Helen, please don’t take this the wrong way, but at this point, I do not care.”
“No,” she said. “Me neither. A few hours’ sleep sounds good.”
The sun was a bright yellow ball, struggling through the clouds just over the horizon and she turned north, following the directions on his phone and soon they were at a nothing special highway hotel.
“Okay, we’re checked in,” he told her, having done it over the phone. “I’ve given your name. You need to go get the keys.”
“I do?”
“I mean, I can, but the risk of there being some kind of scene gets exponentially higher.”
“No,” she said. “I’m too tired for scenes. I’ll get the keys.” She turned to him, with a different kind of look in her eye. “But it’s going to cost you.”
If she was any other woman, he could assume she was propositioning him and his dick. Well, his dick quite liked that scenario. His dick was invested in paying off his debt to this lady the good old-fashioned way.
He smiled at her.
She blinked and her mouth fell open. “No. Not like…not like that.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Your dirty mind was broadcasting it loud and clear.”
“What is all of this going to cost me?” he asked. “Besides double the cost of my bail, the cost of breakfast and a few hours at chez Holiday Inn.”
“The fundraiser also has two auctions. A silent auction and…a bachelor auction.”
“I’m sorry, what now?”
“It’s not all bachelors and it’s not at all dirty. Guys volunteer to build tree houses and do repair work around a house. Clean gutters. The fire chief volunteers a week’s worth of home-cooked meals. It’s actually very wholesome.”
“I am not wholesome.”
“What if you volunteered an hour-long private concert?”
He blinked at her, mouth open. “Do you have any idea how much I get paid to do that?”
“Like…a lot?”
“Like a lot.”
“How about an hour-long music lesson?”
“How about no.”
“Okay, what can you donate to the silent auction?”
“Besides a bunch of cash?”
“You got more of those napkins?” she asked, twirling her finger at him. “With bits of songs on them?”
“You’re kidding me.” His mouth fell open—he was stunned and delighted by her balls. “You want my historical song-writing documents.”
“I want a little bit of that magic I got to watch happen in real life. I want a little bit of the reality behind the albums and the photos and the slick stage show.”
“My soul, then?” he said quietly, staring into those green eyes of hers.
“Just a tiny bit,” she said, holding her fingers about an inch apart.
“You know,” he said, “there are women who would pay me for a night at the…” He looked out the window. “Holiday Inn.”
