Chapter Seven
Men Without Hats hit song filled the van like an anthem of nostalgia and questionable decisions.
Tristan tapped the steering wheel, half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Canada’s finest poetry right here.”
“You say that like it’s not objectively unhinged to try to impress someone with a weird dance.”
His laughter, the low, warm version, made something traitorous flutter behind my ribs.
The night swallowed the highway, but the map dot of Blind Bay finally appeared.
“Out of curiosity, where are we planning on stopping for the night?”
“Ideally, Merritt. It’s two hours from here.”
I glanced at the clock on the dash. “We’d get there after ten.”
“And they’d still be open.” He cocked an eyebrow. “It is a Friday night.”
I nodded and picked up my phone. Perhaps I should’ve looked earlier, but maybe I needed to book a room somewhere. “Do you have a place booked?”
“You ask like you don’t know me at all.”
“Of course you do.” I rolled my eyes as I teased but secretly wondered how much it would cost.
As if he could read my mind, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. When you were in the bathroom, I called and secured another room. It’s all covered. It’s a work perk and a thank you.”
“A thank you?” My head tipped to the side. “If anything, I should be thanking you.”
“Nah. I’m grateful to have a companion on this trip. It’s nice. Even if I did have to listen to Avril Lavigne.” Without a chance to defend my stance, he interrupted my thoughts. “We’re here.”
We rolled past a shuttered marina, a darkened coffee shack, and a sign that read We Have Gas & Worms in handwritten Sharpie.
Eventually, Tristan slowed and turned into a gravel lot beside a white building that bore more resemblance to a house than its namesake: MARK’S LIQUOR & MARINA.
There was no slogan or creativity, and it appeared like the least amount of effort was given.
Holding Mr. Moose to the window, I snapped as boring a picture as I could. It wasn’t hard.
Tristan killed the engine with gusto, blew out a breath, and slipped on a baseball cap. “Time for me to go to work.” A killer wink flew my way.
“May I help?”
“I’ll never say no. Besides, you’re much sweeter than Mark.”
“Who’s Mark?” My gaze ran over the sign. “Oh, right. Him.”
Tristan slid out and opened the back doors, climbing inside to move cases to the edge.
Under the glow of the light and the smell of what I could only imagine was boat fuel lingering on the lake breeze, I stood there momentarily lost watching his forearms flexing under rolled sleeves as he hoisted three cases onto his dolly.
“I can carry something,” I offered but wasn’t sure what.
The crates were stacked and he was easily rolling them toward the liquor store door. At least there wasn’t a watermelon, a weak nod to one of the most popular movies back in the day.
“You already carry enough,” he said without thinking.
My heart stuttered, which was ridiculous, really. I’d heard a hundred variations of you’re strong or you’re capable but never you carry enough.
A tickle of breeze blew a note from Tristan’s cologne to wave under my nose, recalling an old set of memories from when he tried to impress a girl wearing a sample he’d picked up from The Bay.
She had hated it but I’d loved it, and acquired a sample myself, sprinkling a little on my pillow at night.
“But if you could grab the door, that would make this much easier.”
“Oh, what? You can’t do it all?” But I scrambled ahead of him to help.
Inside, the store was aggressively bright and smelled like stale pretzels and Lysol. Behind the counter, a man with thick forearms, graffitied with tattoos, a gray beard, and an Edmonton Oilers cap perked up.
“Tristan! Thought you bailed on me, buddy.” The guy I assumed was Mark eyed the dolly. “That my marble Pinot?”
“And the Syrah you begged for,” Tristan said. “Don’t say I never deliver.”
Mark’s gaze cut to me. “Oh.” His mouth stretched into a knowing smile as he dragged out the word. “So this is why you’re late.”
Tristan froze, his brain crashing like a Windows 98 reboot.
Nudging him sharply, I gave him a look before extending my hand to Mark. “Anna Hemingsway, passenger, porter, and pallbearer of bad jokes.”
The pact. Thirty seconds if someone assumes we’re together.
Tristan inhaled, straightened, and slid his arm around my shoulders. His palm rested exactly where my neck met my shoulder. Where skin was too aware. Warm. Steady. A touch that felt like an anchor and an invitation all at once.
I should’ve tensed at the rare touch but instead, my body betrayed me and naturally relaxed into it.
The familiarity of it—the warmth, the way it fit—hit someplace I’d boarded up years ago. And that was exactly why I couldn’t trust this. I had kids who needed stability, not second chances.
Tristan finally found his voice as I separated myself from him. “We’ve been making a few scenic stops.”
Mark grinned like Santa catching elves kissing. “Ah, huh.”
“Did you know she’s never seen Lake Louise?”
“Is that so?” Mark shot a curious grin in my direction before returning his focus to Tristan. “Well, well. About time.”
I coughed on invisible air. Tristan stiffened but recovered so quickly it almost made me laugh.
“We’re... making a road trip out of it,” he added. “Showing off all the little neat places along the way.”
“Shall I get the keys to the boat? You can take her out to Copper Island.”
“Really? You?” I asked.
Why was I so impressed he could drive a boat? It wasn’t like he’d said he could perform open-heart surgery. But still. A boat.
My mind was still reeling as Tristan spoke. “No time, my friend. Merritt is still expecting us tonight.”
Mark turned to the clock on the wall. “Tonight?”
“We can make it.” Tristan faced me, his confident smile in full display. “It’s less than two hours away. Won’t be a problem.”
I hip checked him. “Are you sure? I’ve seen the way you drive.”
Not a pinch over the speed limit. My Josh drove faster than that, although there was a fair amount of scolding from me about it.
Mark’s giant laugh filled the small space. “Ooh, I like her. Don’t let this one get away.”
Tristan choked on nothing.
We escaped before Mark started planning a wedding.
“Well, he was fun,” I said, climbing into the van and closing the door.
Tristan started the van and tapped the screen to send us onto our next stop. “He’s something.”
He maneuvered the van onto the road, and within a few minutes, we were driving on the Trans Canada once again.
“So you really think I’m a slow driver?” A playful expression pushed the corners of his eyes up.
“I’m just saying, going ten over won’t give you a ticket.” Ten percent of the speed limit was generally acceptable unless you got pulled over by a cop on a power trip.
“So I should go faster?”
I shrugged gently. “Maybe a hair.”
The van accelerated gently, and I was surprised to watch the speed rise over and above the posted limit.
“Look at you go. Do you think we’ll make Victoria tonight?”
“We should be in Merritt before ten now, especially since I am essentially speeding.” He pointed to the odometer for good measure before he gripped the steering wheel again. “But Victoria is still seven hours away, so no, we won’t make it tonight.”
“Oh, okay.” I pulled my ponytail free and redid it, after giving the spot on my head a solid rub. “Well, then what?”
“I stay hyped up on caffeine and an energy drink, and you can sleep.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can’t sleep in a moving vehicle? You’re a nurse. Surely, you’re able to drop and sleep for a power nap if needed.”
“I can’t let you stay awake while I sleep. Something about that feels all wrong. Maybe I could drive part of the way.”
He laughed and covered it quickly.
“Hey, I can drive safely, thank you very much.”
“It’s not that I don’t think you can drive this beast, it’s that it’s dark. In the mountains. Where wildlife can pounce onto the road without a notice.”
“I can be careful. I haven’t had an accident in over four years.” It had almost been five years since I got rear ended.
“Well, we’ll play it by ear after Merritt, Ms. Speed Demon.” He scrolled through the Spotify playlist.
“Actually...” I smacked his hand away. “It’s my time to choose.”
He tipped his head back. “No, it’s not time for Corb Lund.”
“Hey. I’m saving that musical masterpiece for later.” I winked and shuffled through the options. “Did you know there’s a road trip compilation?”
“Let’s hear it.”
I pushed the play button and kept a long lingering gaze on him. Always so in control, it probably rattled him to no end for me to have suggested driving. But it was only fair, and right.
Enjoying the peaceful melodies, I rested my head against the window. I blinked slowly, and when I opened my eyes again, I spotted a sign stating we were turning onto a new highway.
“Ever been on the Coq?” Tristan asked, his face sharpening into focus.
“No. Drugs are bad.”
The ease and warmth of his laugh tickled me. “The Coquihalla. It’s a highway. With higher speeds for a bit. You should enjoy it there.”
Feeling foolish answering before clearly thinking things through, I stared at the odometer as it continued rising.
He delighted me with fun facts about the highway like how it was the only highway in all of British Columbia to have tolls, which ceased to exist after the mid-eighties.
And how it had two summits, the Surrey Lake summit, which we just passed, and the Coquihalla Pass, which was well after our next stop.
Completely comfortable, the lightness lingered, right until the van hiccupped.
Tristan’s hands tightened on the wheel. “No. No. NO!”