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“Thanks.” He tosses the shirt over his shoulder and reclaims the wheel, his forearms flexing as his fingers dig into the leather.
I swallow hard and whip my gaze back to the road, flushing as I recall those strong wrists planted on either side of my head while he slid into me last night. If spontaneous human combustion really does exist, let it claim me now. I cannot be having those thoughts about the guy next to me, not when we have several more states to drive through before we can go our separate ways.
The reminder helps me get my body under control, and I wrap the silence back around myself and pray that the rest of the trip goes fast. That the snow lets up. That I don’t toss myself out of the car to avoid these damn Christmas carols screeching from the radio.
At least I can control one of those things.
“No more sleigh bells,” I announce, leaning forward to fiddle with the radio until it lands on a Top 40 station.
“Grinch,” Sebastian replies, but his voice is relaxed, not mean.
“Yeah.” I sit back and adjust my seatbelt so it falls more comfortably between my breasts. “Not feeling very Christmassy this year.”
He sucks in a breath like he’s about to ask for more details, but instead says, “If you find another place with a rental car, let me know.”
“Oh. Okay.” I don’t know why, but my stomach drops in disappointment, which is ridiculous. I just dragged us on a wild goose chase trying to get out of his hair. He’s being respectful of my wishes. I should be glad.
Then he clears his throat and adds, “But I really am fine driving you to Chicago.”
“Um.” The emotional whiplash of this conversation has knocked all of my conversational skills offline. All I can manage is, “Cool, thanks.”
So he’s good with this dynamic, then. The stilted conversation and the disagreement about the car’s heater and the occasional flashes of what it felt like when his teeth grazed my skin.
Well if he can handle it, so can I. I desperately wish I could have a re-do on last night that didn’t end quite so traumatically, but if he can be a normal person for a few hundred more miles, I can too, right?
There’s no sound for a few minutes other than the wipers trying to keep up with the snow collecting on the windshield. Then Sebastian says, “The good news is, I love awkward silences.”
I bleat out a laugh and clap my hands over my mouth to stifle the undignified sound. For a second I consider telling him everything: Lizzie leaving me the bar, the difficult decision to sell it, how I’m trying to move forward without her. But we’re not here to share those kinds of secrets. So rather than let the intimacy of the moment deepen, I shut my mouth and let the silence take over again.
SIX
Sebastian
“Iknow you’ve got a schedule, but can we stop to grab some food?”
Birdy’s tentative voice cuts through the snow trance I’m in.
I blink at the dashboard clock. “Oh. Shit.” It’s almost 6, which means we’ve been driving for close to seven hours and we’re not even to Rochester yet thanks to the heavy snowfall and gusting wind that’s got us moving at a snail’s pace. At this rate, the trip is going to take twice as long as GPS is telling us.
“Yeah, sure.” Now that she brought it up, my stomach roars to life. “Sounds good.”
We’re in a worst-case-scenario travel situation with the storm making it tough to see the lane lines, and the muscles in my neck and back are screaming. Getting out of the car to walk for a bit will be good.
I take the next exit with signs promising a truck stop. When I pull up to the pump, Birdy chirps, “Bathroom!” and darts through the snow to the brightly lit store.
I grab my winter coat from the backseat and top off the tank, shivering as the wind gusts cut right through it. It was stupid of me not to pack a hat and gloves, but I’d assumed I’d be in and out of airports only on this trip. Once the pump spits out a receipt, I pull the car up to a spot outside the entrance and dash inside to find Birdy with her arms full of fruit and plastic-wrapped deli sandwiches.
“Roast beef, turkey, ham, and egg salad.” She’s cradling her haul like she would an infant. “I figured we could have a car picnic. Plus the oranges will keep us from getting scurvy.”
“Okay, but is there chocolate?”
She gives me aduhface and juggles the food pile around until it reveals a stack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
“Perfect.” But I’m not talking about the chocolate. I’m talking about the pretty pink flush on her cheeks. Shit, I need to stop that. She’s made it clear she’s only spending time with me because I’m slightly less terrible than the rental car guy, so I’d like tonotsink to his creepy level.
As we walk to the counter, a display of personalized tchotchkes catches my eyes, and I stop to poke through the brightly colored pencils and tiny New York license plates.
Birdy sends me a curious look, and I spin the rack as I scan the names. “If you see a Kayleigh spelledkayleigh,you’ll make it so Uncle Seb wins Christmas.”
