Chapter 35 Doritos & Root Beer
Doritos & Root Beer
Maisie
Note to self: Connor is great in a crisis.
Not that this is a crisis, but tell that to my body.
It’s shaking like a leaf. As Lauren likes to tell me, fear of the unknown is normal, but my nervous system can take it to the extreme sometimes.
My body doesn’t seem to know the difference between getting chased by a bear and experiencing a change of plans.
When we made it to the gas station, Connor encouraged me to breathe, all while continuing to stroke his thumb over my hand.
The soft touch melted tension throughout my body, making me shiver.
He waited until my body was calm before popping out to retrieve snacks and fill our gas tank.
I missed the contact immediately. What does all this hand-holding mean?
Does he like me like me? Or is he just being a steady force of a friend?
Either way, I’m grateful for the comfort, and I definitely don’t mind the way his touch makes me feel.
When he slides back into the driver’s seat, he hands me Cool Ranch Doritos and a root beer. A smile tugs at my lips.
He cracks open his can of ginger ale, which only broadens my smile.
“I checked for places while I was waiting in line to pay for the snacks. There is a hotel off the highway, exactly an hour from here. It would be the perfect spot to put a little more distance toward home but keep plenty away from the incoming storm. Thoughts?”
My chest feels heavy in a good way. He did all the work and came up with a plan. He waited until I was calm, took care of snackage, and researched and formed a plan all on his own? I didn’t think guys like him existed, but Connor continues to prove all my previous notions wrong.
I realize I haven’t answered him when his brows furrow in confusion.
Putting him out of his misery as quickly as I can, I reassure him, “Thank you. That’s wonderful. I really appreciate you taking charge of this situation. It’s hard for me to change plans sometimes.”
His eyes soften. “I know, Betty. That’s okay. I’m happy to help. Plus, I’m determined to make it the best experience we can. I’m thinking room service for sure!”
Those damn butterflies take flight in my stomach again. Unfortunately, it’s followed quickly by an unbidden barrage of thoughts. He’s too good to be true. You can’t trust your judgment. You don’t deserve him. He will hurt you, too.
I swallow the lump in my throat and look away before Connor can see the tears pooling in my eyes.
How would I even explain the sudden shift to him?
Sometimes it feels like someone took a shovel and scooped out all my self-confidence.
Between letting things go on so long with Karsen, failing a dive in my first meet, and struggling with the most basic of my occupational therapy pre-req classes, I occasionally question whether I’m doing anything right.
And then Connor, one of the best friends I’ve made since starting college, stopped talking to me, and I still don’t know why.
My mouth finds my cuticle once more. I’ve always followed the status quo.
I got together with Karsen because it seemed fun at the time, but I never re-evaluated, and look where that got me.
I came to a D1 school because my dad told me I should, and I didn’t voice that I didn’t think that was what was best. I went with occupational therapy because my dad said I needed something practical, so I followed that path. But I don’t think my heart is in it.
Connor’s hand wraps around mine, gently pulling it away from where I was gnawing at the cuticle. He isn’t looking at me but rather looking around as he pulls out from our spot in the gas station. Quiet, steady comfort. That’s what he’s offering me.
He sees me, I know it. I want to trust him—I do—but I can’t trust myself.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, thinking I’ll just take a minute to collect myself, but when I open them again, we’re pulling into the parking lot of the hotel. I sit up abruptly, looking out my window.
Mountains peek up beyond the gray-and-blue four-story hotel. There is nothing else around. No shops or restaurants. Just a hotel seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I fidget in my seat and look over at Connor.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says with a smirk.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” I say.
“Don’t be. I’m glad you got some rest. I know the body can crash after a spike in anxiety.”
“You do?” I ask, turning toward him curiously.
“Yeah, um, my mom gets panic attacks. I’ve been with her through a lot of them.” He says it nonchalantly. Like that isn’t a lot for a child to comfort their only remaining parent during such an intense emotional experience.
My heart squeezes.
“It sucks that she deals with them, too. I’m sorry you’ve had that burden on you.”
He eyes me warily, tilting his head in my direction while still focusing enough to park the car. “It isn’t a burden to help those I love. I’m beyond thankful for my mom, and I’m happy to help her sometimes. The same goes for you.”
Did he just imply that he loves me? My eyes widen, but he shows no change in emotion.
I scramble to say, “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t. I just meant that it’s a lot for a kid to care for their parent that way. I know you’re a wonderful son and that you love your mom a lot. I’m glad you feel comforted by helping her.”
I lean my elbow on the car door, trying to adopt a casual posture, and reach out with my other hand to give his arm a quick squeeze.
The hairs on his arm stand up when I do. Apparently, this conversation is over, though, because he puts the car in park and asks, “Do you want me to go in first to check us in and then come get you, or do you want to come with me?”
God, why is he so perfect? “I’ll come with you, but thank you for the offer.”
He nods and moves to get out of the car.
“Connor?” I say, and he stops, looking back at me expectantly. “Thank you, again, seriously. For everything.”
His lips curve into a smile as he says, “Anything for you, Betty.”
He playfully boops my nose as he says it, and my heart skyrockets. Before embarrassment can soak in from my reaction to the smallest of touches, he’s out of the car and rounding to my side. He opens my door, offering a hand to help me out.
“Your Majesty,” he says dramatically as he dips into a reverent half-bow, “your lodgings await.”
We both burst into a fit of laughs, his eyes dancing with mirth, and I push him in the chest like he should cut it out, even though I very, very much don’t want him to.
He gathers my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm like we’re a lord and lady, then leads us toward the hotel’s lobby. A full-body tingle races down my spine. The anxiety from earlier has flowed into excitement.
I turn to look at Connor’s profile. His strong, scruffy jaw is on full display, his nose tipped high in the air, feigning sophistication, but his eyes are crinkled at the edges, trying to keep his laugh in.
Yeah, I’m excited, but only because I’m with him.
We enter through the automatic sliding glass doors, and adventure awaits.