The Accidental Honeymoon (Wildflower Lane #1)

Chapter 25

twenty-five

CALLA

“I’m wearing the entirely wrong shoes for this,” I mutter.

The field is a swamp of enthusiasm, mud, and poor decisions waiting to be made. People in bright orange jackets wave the slow-moving line of cars to open parking spots. When it’s finally our turn, Jay parks his SUV as I peer out the window into the sunlight. It’s bright and unseasonably warm today. Great weather for a demolition derby. Or so I assume; this is the first one I’ve ever been to.

We step out into the mire. My Converse soak through immediately.

“Perfect.” I cringe, but soldier on. This isn't my first time trashing my Converse.

"Calla, are you sure you're up for this?" Jay’s handsome face is etched with something that might be concern. Maybe it's just the sunlight playing tricks, though.

"Are you kidding? This is like a slice of home," I announce. “Seriously, it reminds me of my mom and dad. You haven’t met my parents yet, but they’re very… entertaining. ”

Yet? I say that as if Jay will meet them any day now. In reality, I’m just praying that video of me drunkenly marrying Jay never makes it to Facebook. That’s where my parents hang out.

We trudge over to the main event. In the center of the bracket of stands, a large field of mud stands at the ready. All around it is pure chaos. The 'Smash 'n' Bash Extravaganza' is in full swing, featuring men with beer guts and trucker caps, women in cutoff denim jackets, and more muddy cowboy boots than I can count.

The air smells of wet grass and cheap lager. I take a deep breath.

Jay looks skeptical, but willing to be convinced. "I thought you hated this kind of thing."

"I have a complicated relationship with redneck culture," I say, shrugging. "On one hand, ew. On the other, I am from Georgia. Some part of me can’t help but love it."

Jay’s film crew appears and starts trailing us, hoping to capture every awkward step in a mud puddle and every sidelong glance between us. I can't help but think about how they’ll edit this later. They’ll cut and splice until we look like a perfect, happy couple.

We slosh our way toward the makeshift stadium. Thousands of fans are already filling the bleachers. An announcer's voice crackles over the PA system, hyping the crowd for the first round of vehicular mayhem.

“Can we stop for a snack?” I ask.

“I offered you some trail mix in the car!” Jay looks at me like I’d just kicked his shins.

“I want real food.” I feel my cheeks burning. “I can buy my own popcorn if that’s the issue.”

He pulls out his wallet and eyes me. “I just want you to live past forty. ”

“And I want to enjoy the time I have on this planet.” I hold out my hand, scrunching my fingers. “Gimme, please.”

His lips twitch with humor as he hands me a stack of twenties. We line up at the concession stand. It’s a rickety setup of folding tables and mismatched coolers stocked with cans of soda and plastic-wrapped hot dogs. Jay buys a bottle of water. I ask for a Coke and a hot dog.

He takes a swig of his water, his eyes flicking to me and then away. "Calla," he starts.

I already know what he's going to say. Or at least, I hope I do. I don't think I can take him apologizing. "Yeah?" I reply, paying close attention to my hot dog.

He hesitates, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. "About last night?—"

The PA system roars to life, drowning him out. I flinch at the sudden volume. Jay just sighs and looks toward the track. A convoy of battered sedans and pickup trucks are lining up for the first event. The crowd surges with anticipation.

Yup, this is happening all right.

I stand on my tiptoes to reach Jay’s ear. "We should find our seats," I yell over the din.

He nods and starts to lead me up the slippery bleacher steps. A couple of times he pauses, making sure I am following him closely.

It’s nice to be thought of.

We find our seats. I plop down with a squelch and survey the track below. The field is a lake of mud. The vehicles are already fishtailing and colliding in a glorious, slow-motion ballet of destruction. I can't help but smile.

"This is your thing, huh?" Jay asks.

I flush as I realize he's been watching me, not the carnage. "I can appreciate a good smash-up," I say, deflecting. "It's therapeutic."

He laughs. "Maybe I should take notes."

The tension between us is a live wire, sparking and dangerous. I know this can't last. This will-they-or-won’t-they, this tentative friendship, this whatever-it-is. But for now, I let the noise and the mud and the sheer ridiculousness of the moment wash over me and drown out the thoughts I’m not ready to face.

The first event is over pretty quickly, with a minimum of destruction. All the cars competing just kind of clanked to a stop, leaving only one that may ever drive anywhere ever again. The announcer declares the winner, and the crowd erupts.

Jay leans in close again. "Calla, I just want you to know?—"

I turn to him, our faces inches apart. "I know," I say, cutting him off. "Let's just enjoy the show."

“You know?” He sounds as if he isn’t sure.

Yeah, I’ve been given the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ line a few times. And the ‘I’m just not in the place for a relationship’ line? Heard that one, too. “I’m good,” I say.

He sits back. For a moment, I think he looks relieved. The film crew zooms in, capturing our silence, our unresolved everything.

Is this the worst or what?

Twenty minutes later, we’re walking around, scoping out booths selling “You Might Be a Redneck If” T-shirts and camo belt buckles, and I find myself wishing for that awkwardness again.

"Calla, look!” Jay’s pointing to a banner flapping in the breeze. It reads 'Couples Mud Run' in big, drippy letters. "We should totally do that. "

“A mud run in February? Who thought that was a brilliant idea?”

“It’ll be fun! It’s nice enough outside. Cool, not cold.” He looks over my shoulder at the track on the far end of the field.

I follow his gaze and my stomach does a little somersault. The track is a quagmire of obstacles: tire walls, balance beams, and pits that look like they could swallow a person whole. I’d paid no attention to it when we arrived but now I wonder if it was just self-preservation that made me miss it. "You're serious?"

“As a heart attack.” He grins, the kind of smile that could melt glaciers. "Come on, Calla. I need to live out my redneck dreams. Think of it as team building. Plus, the cameras will love it."

Of course. The cameras. I glance over my shoulder at the film crew, who are busy capturing B-roll of the crowd. Jay notices, and his expression softens. “We can skip it if you really don't want to do the run. I just thought…"

He trails off, and I know he’s trying. Trying to make this less weird, trying to make me less resistant.

I sigh. "Fine. But if I break an ankle, you're paying my medical bills."

Jay’s face lights up. "You won't regret it," he says, taking my hand and pulling me toward the signup tent.

“Famous last words,” I deadpan, but inside I feel a tiny spark of excitement.

That spark is snuffed out the second we hit the starting line. We’re surrounded by couples who look far too enthusiastic about this whole endeavor. Jay strips off his shirt, casually revealing a torso that could be the centerpiece of a fitness magazine.

I try not to stare, but come on. The man is a Greek god.

"You might want to take off your top," he says casually. "It'll just get ruined."

I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not wearing a sexy bra."

“Every bra you own is a sexy bra. Plus, I have an extra shirt in the car if you need it. It’s going to weigh you down when we run through all that mud."

I uncross my arms, feeling petulant and ridiculous. With a sigh, I pull off my hoodie and top. The cool air hits my skin, but when I shiver it’s not just from the cold. I fold the clothes and stack them atop my purse, handing it over to the camera crew for safekeeping.

Jay looks me over. He’s not leering, just… appreciating. "You look great," he says.

“I look out of place.” I look around at all the women in their bikini tops and sports bras. Not one single gray underwire bra in the group.

“I’d rather be wherever you’re going.” He grins at me.

Why, oh why, does my heart do a somersault in response?

Before I can respond, a whistle blows and we're off.

The first obstacle is a mud pit. Everyone leaps in like a pack of deranged lemmings. The mud is thick and cloying. My feet instantly feel like they’re encased in concrete. I take one step and faceplant, the muck slurping hungrily at my body.

Strong hands pull me up. Jay is laughing. I’m embarrassed and I want to be angry, but his laughter is infectious. I wipe mud from my face, smearing it worse, and start to giggle.

"We're going to crush this," he says, though it’s obvious we’re dead last already.

“I like the optimism. ”

We trudge through the next set of obstacles: a slippery balance beam that I crawl across on all fours, a wall of used tires, a frame made of cargo netting. On the last one, Jay reaches down and lifts me up with shocking ease. Each time he touches me, little electric shocks through my body remind me of our private mountain sex. Of his hands, and his mouth, and?—

I slip in the mud. Focus, Calla .

We reach another mud pit, and I hesitate. I don’t know how shallow it is. I don’t know if there are creatures lurking at the bottom, ready to snatch at my feet. Jay notices my pause and takes my hand.

"Together," he says. “Come on!”

I’m not the type of person to just blindly take a leap. But Jay is doing it. Somehow, I am certain that he wouldn’t jump into a snake-infested mud pit.

I close my eyes, nod tightly, and squeeze his hand as I jump.

The mud explodes all around us and we land in a tangle of limbs. I expect it to be cold, but it’s warm from the sun. We struggle to our feet, laughing.

For a moment it feels like we’re an actual team. Like we’re figuring this out together, even if it’s just for now.

A shout goes up from the crowd. We turn to see a tiny, wiry woman barreling toward us. She looks like she was born in a trailer park and raised on a diet of scrap metal and moonshine. She’s a force of nature, and she’s holding a makeshift flag.

"Move it, lovebirds!" she yells. We sidestep just in time as she streaks past, mud flying in her wake. She crosses the finish line, and the crowd goes wild, hooting and hollering.

Jay and I look at each other, panting. He shrugs. I start to laugh. A deep, uncontrollable laugh that wipes away all the tension of the last twenty-four hours. He joins in.

“We can still make it to the finish line. Team Last Place!” I suggest.

We make our way to the finish line, hand in hand. At the end of the race, many of our competitors stand waiting for us. They’re watching us until we cross the line and then hollering bloody murder when we do.

When we pass over the checkered line, Jay cheers, picking me up and kissing me. I grin as that grizzled woman waves her flag victoriously. Jay high-fives her, still holding me up. "Nice run," he says and she cackles.

I retrieve my purse and try to wipe my hands clean before digging in, but it’s no use. "Here," Jay says, handing me his shirt. I take it, grateful, and pat myself down as best I can.

"That was…actually kind of fun," I admit. “Disgusting, but fun.”

"Told you. We make a good team.”

We start to walk back to the parking lot, leaving a trail of muddy footprints. The film crew catches up. I realize I don’t even mind them right now.

Let them film. Let them see.

Jay slows and turns to me. "Calla, about what I was trying to say earlier?—"

I hold my breath.

"Thank you. For all of this. I know it's not easy."

I exhale and nod, appreciating the effort he’s putting in without making it unbearably awkward.

"We’re in it together, right?" It nearly sounds convincing.

"Yeah," he says. He offers me his hand and his eyes hold mine a moment longer than they need to. "Together. "

We reach his SUV, and I pause before getting in. The mud run, the laughter, his hands on me. They’ve all stirred something I’m not ready to confront.

"Jay," I say. He looks at me expectantly. "I know this is just an arrangement, but…."

"But?" he prompts.

"But I appreciate that you're taking it seriously," I finish.

Yup. I chickened out.

He nods. "I appreciate you, Calla."

I slide into the passenger seat, my heart a confused, muddy mess.