Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
A nother day, another printout of fifty-mile-an-hour state highways.
Sunny gripped the steering wheel and checked the speedometer. She eased off the gas. No point in getting pulled over again. Talking her way out of tickets would take more time than if she just obeyed the speed limit.
Stupid speed traps.
She flicked a glance at Gabe. His color was better, but he still gripped the door handle and kept his gaze anywhere but on the straight stretch of road ahead. Car Gabe was very different from the version she’d met at his townhouse and in the parking lot of Cata’s apartment. There, he’d been confident, sure. Sexy.
What was his deal? Had he been in a car accident? Or did he get motion sick? She hoped he didn’t ralph in her car. It was old and the upholstery was a bit ratty, but it smelled decent. All it’d take was one puking incident, and it’d never be the same. He needed a distraction.
“So, Gabe,” she said, “what should we talk about? We already covered the weather and the price of gas during breakfast. Got any interesting skeletons in your closet?”
She winced as soon as she said it. His parents were dead, so he had a matching pair of skeletons. Great distraction, genius.
“Don’t answer that,” she said. “Let’s listen to some music.” She touched the radio button and scanned to the first station. “Fool, I’m a Queen,” the one hit from Gwen’s brief foray into pop music, blared through the speakers. Wincing, she punched the power button for silence. Not today, Mom.
“I forgot about that new hands-free system you installed.” She directed her phone’s virtual assistant to play her Broadway playlist. “I hope you like showtunes.”
His body was so big inside her Mercedes that she felt him shrug. Crap, mentioning his dead parents had gotten him stuck in his feels. Because no one shrugged at showtunes: they either loved them or despised them. But when “Let It Go” came on, he sat up straight.
“I know this one,” he said.
“You must have some tween nieces.” Sunny smiled. It was one of her favorites. Too bad it’d been played to death.
“Nah, I’m an only child.”
Shit, shit, shit. She knew that. She should’ve played “Oops!…I Did It Again.”
“We play this one during the winter wonderland show,” he said, “on Saturdays.”
“You mean at Beach Island?”
“Yeah, we do a whole number with a snow queen and dancing snowmen. We even make it fake snow on stage. Makes the guests feel cooler in the middle of summer.”
Beach Island’s costume department had a snow queen gown, yet she’d had to wear a nineteenth-century outfit that was more patches than dress. “I bet the kids love it,” she said. “I wish I’d seen it.”
“It’s only on during the summer, when the high-school and college-age kids are working. We wouldn’t have done it while you worked there.”
“Too bad.” It would’ve been fun to sing on a stage for a thousand people or more. She hadn’t done that for a while, not since before she’d moved to New York.
As their conversation fizzled and died, Sunny checked the speedometer again and scanned the roadside for deer. She didn’t realize she’d started to sing along until Gabe shifted beside her and brushed her arm. Shivers erupted under her sleeve.
She moved her elbow from the console and clutched the wheel with both hands. “What?”
“You can sing.” His cheeks darkened. “I mean, I know you can, since you were a caroler at Beach Island. But you can really sing.”
Warmth flooded her belly. “It’s what I do. When I’m not doing customer service, that is.” She flashed him a twisted smile. “I act, sing, dance, even play a little piano when coerced.”
“I bet that took hard work and discipline.”
She glanced at him again. Not the first thing most people said when they found out what she did for a living. Unexpected. “It did.”
“I love the shows we put on at the park. I wish I’d seen your group perform. But I, ah, didn’t really get out of my office during Holly Days.”
“Oh.” He was probably thinking about his dead parents again. She’d spent the holidays with Cata, and although her mother had unenthusiastically invited her on her annual ski trip, she’d never even considered it. Not without a job. Not without wheels or airfare to get herself there. Still, as cold and remote as her parents were, at least she knew they were out there, and she could call them whenever she wanted. The holidays had to be rough for someone who couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted it.
He surprised her by asking, “Why’d you decide to become a performer?”
She smiled, remembering the karaoke bar she and some of her castmates had frequented after filming wrapped on Fridays. “I always liked the applause, the feeling I’d done something that made people happy. My grandparents used to say I sparkled onstage. That’s why everyone called me Sunny. Except my parents, of course.” How had that slipped out? She didn’t want to talk about her parents. “It must be similar for you at Beach Island. You offer people a break from their daily lives, a chance to let loose and enjoy themselves.”
But that didn’t make Gabe relax the way she’d expected. Instead, he tensed.
“What’s the matter?” She scanned the road. Not a deer in sight. Had she said the wrong thing?
“Nothing.” He took out his phone and tapped it.
Shit. They’d almost had a moment there. She’d almost punched through the stone fortifications Gabe had built around himself. But that glimmer of softness he’d shown when she sang made her hope that if she tried a little harder, she could ease his pain for a while.
Not now. Tension built on his side of the car as he continued to type on his phone. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s just work. I really shouldn’t have taken time off.”
His phone hadn’t left his hand except while he’d slept in the car yesterday. Was that why his girlfriend had broken up with him? He’d spent too much time working and not enough time wooing? “Aren’t you between seasons right now? What is there even to do at the park?”
Gabe scowled at his phone. “There’s always something to do. Maintenance. A new ride we’re thinking about buying. And I sent my cousin to a conference. He hasn’t been too involved in the business to this point, and he has a lot of questions.” He tapped out another sentence or two. “Plus, my assistant. She has some health issues. I worry about her.”
“That is a lot.” He sounded like a producer on a show. “What is it you do, again?”
“Back office,” he muttered.
Okay, then. He didn’t want to be asked about work. But she could still make him feel a little better.
After asking her phone to play “All That Jazz,” she belted out the lyrics so that the melody filled up her Mercedes. She growled on the sauciest lines. If she could lighten some of grumpy Gabe’s burden, she would.
Little by little, his stiff shoulders eased, and he leaned back into the leather seat. He slid his phone into his pocket.
The next song was “Come to Me” from Les Misérables, and she let the aching beauty of the song infuse her voice. When she’d performed it at a college production of the musical, she’d let pathos color it. But now, she kept it light, focusing on the peace Fantine feels as she approaches death, knowing her child will be cared for. Still, she hoped Gabe had never seen it. Today she couldn’t go five minutes without bringing up dead parents.
When she stole a glance at him, though, he’d closed his eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile curved his lips. She wished she could gaze on that relaxed face, burn it into her memory for the next time he got all gruff and growly. But she dragged her attention back to the road.
Sometime when she wasn’t hurtling along the road at seventy—whoops, fifty-five—miles an hour, she’d coax that expression out of him again.