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As the miles stretched on, the tension waned, replaced by the rhythmic hum of the highway beneath. Blaze was hotter than hell, but I held back any thoughts of suggesting a motel stop. With my whole life about to be turned upside down after Christmas, the last thing I needed was to get entangled with a guy I just met.
“So, let me get this straight,” I quipped. “Your aunt hooks up with a Scotsman who’s already got a freaking soccer team?”
Blaze grinned. “Alec, the twins Brody and Cory, Eoin, and little Miss Maggie.”
“And your aunt threw in her own squad, right?”
“Yep, the globe-trotters: Austin, Rome, Paris, Aspen.”
“Their baby-making didn’t tap out there?”
“Sean and Xander - a twofer - followed by London.” He laughed at my gape. “Add to that motley crew me, Fury, and Rose.”
I whistled. “I pictured family game night, not a family reunion. That’s a full-blown dynasty.”
Blaze’s smile softened. “Being one of the big dogs meant I was tripping over toddlers. But honestly? It was pretty great.”
I started asking questions about the other kids, and his stories carried us over the Mississippi River, where we stopped for gas and so I could take a picture.
“Now take one with me,” I demanded after I’d gotten one of me alone.
“It’s freezing out here,” he argued.
“Too bad.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the shore. I leaned against him and smiled, then snapped a selfie of us, laughing when I saw the scowl on Blaze’s face.
“Can we go now?” he asked. “I’m truly freezing my balls off.”
The color in his cheeks, not entirely from the brisk wind, tempted me to tease him about it, but he was right about it being cold, so I just nodded, and we headed back, with him taking the wheel.
I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because we were approaching Des Moines by the time I woke up. The rhythmic pulse of the road beneath us melded with Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On” streaming through the speakers. The landscape blanketed in snow flew by in a serene blur.
“You hungry?” Blaze’s voice cut through the music.
I glanced at him before peering out at the passing signs for food and gas. “Starving,” I confessed. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”
He pointed to an upcoming exit. “Diner up ahead. Looks like it could be decent.”
“Perfect,” I said, and he flicked on the turn signal and steered us toward a hopeful food stop.
We pulled into a spot outside a quaint little place with neon lights that flickered ‘Open’ in a comforting, if not slightly kitschy, way. The wind nipped at my cheeks as we made our way inside, escaping the biting cold for the warm embrace of greasy spoons and vinyl booths.
As we slid into a booth by the window, Blaze’s presence felt more tangible than before, like heat emanating from a fire I wasn’t sure I should play with. The waitress came over with menus, her smile tired but genuine as she poured us coffee without asking if we wanted any. It was assumed—a warm-up from the chill.
“What’s good here?” Blaze asked her.
She chuckled. “Honey, everything’s good here. But if you’re looking for something special, our meatloaf is famous around these parts.”
Blaze glanced at me with an eyebrow quirked in question.
I nodded. “Let’s split it? And maybe a side of fries?”
“Make it two sides,” he added with a smile that made my heart do an odd little skip.
As she walked away to put in our order, Blaze turned his attention back to me. “So, Trisha Easton,” he began, casually leaning back against the booth. “I know we agreed on no personal stuff, but I gotta know; what drives you crazy? What’s your pet peeve?”
I laughed at the abruptness of his question, but played along. “People who don’t use turn signals,” I said without hesitation.
He nodded approvingly. “A woman after my own heart.”
