Chapter 20
twenty
GENEVA
Peter’s SUV shows up on the back of a tow truck around noon. We’ve been dressed for hours. I’ve washed the now-empty casserole dish, and we’ve played a hundred rounds of gin rummy with the only deck of cards in the cabin.
There’s not much else to do here. You don’t realize how much you miss technology until you don’t have it. Our phones still have no service, and the cabin doesn’t offer internet.
“Let me grab some cash to pay you,” Peter says to the large man standing just inside the cabin door.
“Nah, I’ll just bill ya later. Write your email on the ticket. My wife does the billing between wrestling kids,” he says. “That way, y’all can get on your way. The roads are cleared for the most part.”
“Okay. Well. Thank you.” Peter doesn’t know what to say to that arrangement any more than I do. Is this how every small town handles life? No wonder Rand moved to Dansboro Crossing.
Peter follows the man outside to help get the Rover off the truck. I make one more sweep through the cabin before settling on the couch to wait.
“Ready?” Peter asks, walking back inside. It’s only been fifteen minutes, but without phone access, it feels like hours. “Are you just staring at the fireplace?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay. I guess we’d better get back to civilization before you start having withdrawal symptoms.” I flip him off over my shoulder. He’s not offended, judging by the laughter. Then again, he has seen that finger a lot over the years. “I guess if you think there’s time.”
“Is sex all you think about?” I stand and shoot him a glare.
“Every second of every day,” he quips. I cock a hip. He grabs our bags. With a sigh, I shrug into my coat and follow him out the door. Sometimes he just doesn’t rise to the bait.
I notice a wad of cash lying on the counter in the kitchen. Figures that Gene didn’t charge us for the cabin either. Peter’s a man who pays his debts though. He would have thought about that casserole and added extra.
“Holy shit, it’s cold,” I complain when the wind hits me. The tow truck is sitting farther down the driveway, with exhaust pouring out of the back.
“He’s showing us how to get back to the highway,” Peter says, following my line of sight. “Here, get in.” He holds the door so I can clamor inside. The seat warmer is already on high. He tosses the bags on the seat and climbs in beside me. “Buckle up. The roads are still icy.” The tires crunch on the ice as we follow the tow truck down the winding driveway.
He leads us all the way into town before flashing his lights to let us know we’re on the right road. Peter spies the lone diner with its open sign in the window. We agree that we’d rather make miles than spend time inside waiting for our food. He runs inside and returns with two sandwiches. What makes me happiest is the carrier of coffee.
“I’m not sure what we wound up with,” he says, handing me the bag.
“Looks like ham, bacon, and cheese.” I fold the paper on one of the sandwich bags so Peter can hold it without taking his eyes off the road.
Pulling the other sandwich out, I sink my teeth into the gooey goodness. What is with this town? Is it a secret pocket of gourmet chefs? I guess we will never know as we put miles between us and it.
“These people can cook,” he points out.
“I was just thinking that. There’s a bunch of fries in the bottom too.” I pop one in my mouth. It’s still hot and just salty enough to be good. “I couldn’t live here. I’d be the size of a house.”
“We’d have that in common, for sure.”
Speaking of, surely I can find at least one last quiz in one of the magazines. I reach into the back for my stack. Flipping through one, I find a quiz that should be a little more light-hearted than what we’ve been doing.
“When I ask you a question, just say the first thing that comes to mind. Whatever your preference is, okay?”
“Okay,” he says hesitantly.
“Dog or cat?”
“Dog.”
“Yeah, I would guess you’re a dog person. I don’t care either way. I like dogs and cats. Would you rather go out or stay in on Friday night?”
“Yes,” he answers.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, it is. I’d rather take you out for the evening, then head home and spend the rest of the night on top of you. I guess if I can only choose one, I’ll take on top of you.”
“Would you rather vacation in the mountains or on the beach?”
“After this, I’ll choose the beach. With you in that bikini.”
“We should go dive off the wrecks around Florida next time. I’ll wear the bikini.”
“Deal,” he says, offering to shake my hand. I take it, and he pulls my knuckles to his lips. It’s a very boyfriend move.
“Let’s see. Would you rather move back to your hometown or never go back?”
“I like where I grew up. I’d move back if I had to, but I’m not itching to. It’ll be nice to live closer though. Maybe I can see my family a little more often.”
“I love San Francisco, but I feel the same way. I’d rather live closer to Rand than my parents. I’m sure I’ll go back for a visit eventually. Not any time soon though,” I say. “Would you rather have no kids or eight?”
“Eight,” he answers without even hesitating. “I grew up in a large family. My siblings were the best part of that.”
“You just made my uterus scream in fear,” I tease.
He throws his head back and laughs. Why is it not weird to be talking about our future kids constantly? I guess I’m starting to feel invested in this relationship. I have to admit, I like the way that feels.
“Ooh, this is a good one,” I continue. “Do you prefer a quickie or to take your time?”
“I don’t think that’s a fair question. There are too many factors involved. Do we only have time for a quickie? Where are we? If we don’t hurry, do we take a chance of being discovered? Or is it a lazy Sunday morning and we have all day? See, too many variables.”
“Are you already planning sex in the supply closet at the office?”
“Absolutely. We’re also having sex on Rand’s desk, then just hinting about it so it drives him crazy wondering.”
It’s my turn to laugh. Peter and Rand have spent their entire adulthood torturing each other. They’re closer than most brothers, which I’m convinced is why they do it. “Would you rather invest in experiences or objects?”
“Experiences,” he says.
“Huh, I thought being an architect you’d answer objects.”
“I’m more interested in the experiences the people that occupy those spaces have. If it’s a historical building, I envision the people in the past and how they used the building. It influences my design decisions.”
“See, I just learned something new about Peter Winsloe,” I say. “Here, you thought these were a waste of time. Psst. Would you say you’re more passive or confrontational?”
He’s quiet for so long that I begin to give up on getting an answer. I’ve seen him let things I would pitch a fit over roll off his back. I’ve also seen what happens if you back him into a corner.
What I’ve never seen is Peter remaining silent when someone takes a shot at one of his friends. There’s been more than one occasion when he came out swinging. We even got tossed out of a bar years ago because someone called me a bitch.
“How about this one? Are you more logical or emotional?”
“Probably emotional, as hard as I try to be logical. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought,” he says.
“I do. I’d say you’re passive until you see an injustice. Then you confront the problem regardless of what it is. I also like that you feel so deeply. Sometimes you’ve had to feel for both Rand and I when we were too scared to.
“You’re introverted no matter how hard you try not to be. It’s obvious you prefer your drawings to people most of the time. And as much as you want to go with the flow, you like the structure of knowing what’s ahead.”
He glances at me with wary eyes.
“That’s why I call bullshit that you’re not already worried about how this relationship will go. You think you’re the only one that can see into someone’s heart. Make no mistake, I’ve seen yours for a long time.”
“What do you think you see?” His tone is a challenge.
“I see a man who values his family and friends above all else. Who charges into the rescue with no concern for himself. I also see how easy it would be to hurt a man like that. One that feels his emotions so deeply that he will wait a decade for what he wants. You have always been the best of us, Peter. And I love you for that.”
The car grows quiet. I don’t know if I’ve pissed him off or not. I close my magazine and toss it into the back. No more quizzes, possibly ever. I study him as he stares out the windshield. We left the ice miles ago. The only thing in sight now is miles of flat desert grassland.
“I love you too,” he says. His hands grip the steering wheel with purpose, but his eyes slide to mine. “The wait was worth it.”
“It was,” I say with a laugh. “I just wish we had done this earlier.”
“I guess we weren’t ready yet. I still don’t know what I’m going to say to your brother.”
“I vote we wait a while.” He doesn’t answer me. I know he likes things out in the open, but I want to keep this to myself just a little while longer.
“If that’s what you want,” he says quietly.
“At least for now.”
I stare out the window as the miles click by. I don’t ponder why I want to keep us a secret. That feels like too much baggage to unpack right now. The drama of the last couple of months is all I can deal with at this moment. Any more might send me over the edge.
“Do you think we’ll get to Austin tonight?” I ask a few miles down the road.
“We should. There’s not much between here and there anyway.”
“Good.” We ride in silence for another mile. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
“I can do that,” he says with a smile. I smile back. Yep, I can grow old with this man. “Are you getting hungry? I know I could use a break.”
“Famished. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing that takes too long if we’re going to get there before midnight.”
“Hey, look.” In the distance, I see a giant sign in the shape of a W. “One last burger before I revert back to the world of quinoa and kale?”
“What the lady wants, the lady gets.”
“I like the way you think, Winsloe. Keep it up and you might get a bonus for finishing this trip on time.”
“I like the way you think, Randolph.” He pulls into the parking lot and shuts off the engine. “Now get the lead out. I need that bonus.”
“Tell you what, I’ll throw in some extra incentives if you get me extra pickles,” I tease. He hurries around the SUV to open my door.
“Let’s go.” He takes my hand. “I’ve got a restaurant worth of pickles to buy.”
He pulls the door open and ushers me inside. I find us a table while he places our order. That’s one of the perks of being in a relationship with your best friend that no one tells you about. He knows exactly how I like my burger.