Chapter 8
CARA
We were only an hour into the drive, and I was already annoyed with Nick Roman.
I’d caught him side-eyeing Mother Tree, nestled safely in a packing box with air-filled cushions, when he’d loaded his bag and toolbox onto the floor behind the passenger’s seat.
He’d glanced back at it at least once every few minutes since then as I’d driven us out of the city.
“What?” I finally barked at him.
He widened his eyes and stared at me, the picture of innocence. Well, as innocent as a man who looks like sin on a stick can appear. “Did I miss something?”
I puffed out air through my nose and turned off the radio.
If we were going to have it out, I didn’t want to ruin the sanctity of the Chipmunk’s Christmas song by having an argument over top of it.
“I can’t imagine you’ve missed anything, given the way you’ve been staring at my art piece for the past hour.
You must know it better than I do at this point.
So go ahead, tell me everything that’s wrong with it. ”
“Hmm.”
When I glanced sideways at him, he was staring out through the windshield, his face unreadable. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“No, but I need a minute. There was a lot packed into those few sentences.” He angled his body to look straight at me. “Do people actually do that, tell you things they think are wrong with your art?”
I didn’t expect him to question me back. It surprised me enough to make me answer. “Of course. Teachers, critics, buyers.”
He nodded. “It’s literally their job. But I doubt you snapped at me because a critic gave you a bad review.”
I wasn’t about to tell him how right he was, that it wasn’t the critics or even the buyer’s rejections that cut me to the quick.
Those wounds had come from much closer to home.
It had been Riley, whose parents’ money meant his family had made connections in all sorts of social circles, even in the California art world.
And he was always on the verge of introducing me to someone important, if only I would create a piece worthy enough.
And then there were my parents. They loved me.
I never doubted that. And they supported me as much as they could.
But I was the weird drawing, painting, sculpting unicorn who’d been dropped into a family of business people.
They’d never known quite what to do with that or with me.
I glanced at Nick. “Maybe I’m very sensitive to my reviews.”
“I’m sure negative ones suck, but you seem like the kind of woman who’s mentally tough enough to take it.”
Was that a compliment? “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And for the record, I think that piece is frigging amazing.
Every time I look at it, I feel something different, something new.
” He turned his laser-focused gaze away from me.
“Your piece at Mason’s bar is like that, too.
The first time I saw it...” He seemed to shiver.
“Let’s say it unsettled me. Actually, it freaked me out. ”
“Freaked you out?” I tried not to grin. Now that was a reaction to art. “That’s pretty cool.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.”
Now I did smile. “I’d say sorry, but making you feel something is the point.”
“I know. I had a little bit of art education when I was a kid. The truth is I didn’t appreciate it much at the time. All I really learned was to recognize what I like.” He turned and looked at Mother Tree again. “And this piece, I like. I like it very, very much.”
“Thank you.” Now I couldn’t stop grinning. “I must say, Mr. Roman, you have excellent taste in art. And also, damn you.”
“Whoa, what did I do now?” He said it softly, obviously taking no real offense.
“You’re being very likable.”
“And that’s a problem because...?”
Because it makes it too easy to forget I’m not attracted to you. That was another thing I could never tell him. “That’s my own shit. But really, thanks.” I slid another sideways glance at him. “And did you say frigging earlier? That’s the way my grandma swears.”
He grinned. “Maybe your grandma and I went to school together.”
“Stop it. Even I realize you’re not quite that old.” My stomach chose that moment to twist and growl. Loudly.
“Did you have an early breakfast?” He pulled out a phone. “I’ll find someplace to grab a snack. I could use one myself.”
“Can you make it someplace that has sandwiches? I saw on the detailed, two-page itinerary you emailed me that our lunch stop is at 1400 hours, which Google told me is 2 p.m., so I’ll need something a little more substantial than a snack for my first meal of the day.”
“First meal... Are you telling me you didn’t eat breakfast?”
“I never eat breakfast.”
He shook his head and when I glanced in his direction, he was wide-eyed as if he were genuinely shocked. “If I’d had this information, I would have insisted on taking the first shift of driving. You can’t fully concentrate if you haven’t even fueled your body yet.”
I ignored the fact that he’d just mentioned my body. He’d said it so casually, yet I’d felt it to my core. And now I was thinking about his body. His very sleek-muscled, well-fueled body.
I cleared my throat and tried, unsuccessfully, to clear my mind, but I did manage to keep my voice light as I spoke. “The breakfast-is-the-most-important-meal-of-the-day speech? Now you’re channeling my grandmother and my mother.”
He held up his phone. “Maybe, but with my post-breakfast, clear-thinking mind, I found a great place just off the highway that will only add a few minutes to my very reasonable, not-all-that-detailed schedule. Tomorrow, we’ll have a real breakfast and you’ll come to appreciate the wisdom of your elders. ”
In the span a few minutes, Nick had reminded me of our differences, from our ages to our planning approaches to our breakfast philosophies.
Despite how smoothly he’d done it, I suspected the reminders had been intentional.
Maybe he wasn’t as annoying as I’d originally thought, but he was still off limits, and he was doing everything short of stating it outright to telegraph that message loud and clear.
At precisely 2:03 p.m., we pulled into the parking lot of a food-truck park just over the Arizona state line.
The small town was the first stop on my list, but the gem of a lunch spot was all his doing.
Any lingering regrets I’d had about giving in and sending him a list of my planned stops evaporated.
The smell of so many delicious, savory options made my stomach grumble more loudly than it had that morning.
“I don’t know how I’ll pick one,” I said.
“So, pick more than one.” Nick nodded toward a truck with a lot of pictures of chicken dishes and salads. “I’m headed over there, then I’ll get a seat for us at one of the picnic tables.” He handed me some cash. “Get as many different things as you want.”
I held up my hands. “You don’t need to buy my lunch.”
“Yes, I do.” He pressed the bills into my hand. “That was our deal.” He walked away without a backward look, giving me no chance to argue further.
Less than ten minutes later, I joined him at a picnic table. I set down my plate and held up two bags. “I decided to get to-go bags for later, since I know from your itinerary that we’re not having dinner until we stop for the night.”
Grinning, he picked up a bag from the bench beside him and set it on the table. “Great minds...”
A short time later, we threw away our trash, gathered our bags, and walked back to the car.
“I’ll help you unload Mother Tree at the park,” he said, referring to the spot I’d mapped out for my first official photo shoot of the trip. “Then I need to run an errand. I should be back to get you in half an hour. Will that be long enough?”
“Sure.” I wanted to ask about his errand, like I wanted to ask about so many things, not the least of which was the reason he was driving with me instead taking a plane across the country like a normal person. But he didn’t offer details and I didn’t really have a right to ask for them.
True to his word, he helped me set up Mother Tree, my tripod, and my selfie stick beside a beautiful marble fountain in the middle of a meadow with huge evergreens in the background, and snow-capped mountaintops behind those. Once I was alone, I recorded some still shots, then a few videos.
The park was nearly empty, but two elderly ladies who, I found out, were sisters oohed and ahhed over the sculpture and asked if they could take a picture of it, too.
And then a new idea was born. With their permission, I snapped pics of them with my art that I would include in my online posts and stories.
A young mother and her little girl stopped to watch us, then had their pictures taken as well, but only from behind to protect the toddler’s identity.
A very young-looking couple, wearing matching backpacks and walking hand-in-hand, also took a turn.
They confirmed that they were over 18 and showed me their college IDs, and I added their pics to my project folder.
My idea was moving in a new and exciting direction. This was why I didn’t over plan. My creativity needed time and space to breathe. And for the first time in a long time, I was filled with joy at the thought of grabbing hold of a lightning bolt of inspiration and running with it.
There was one slight problem, though, with my stroke of inspiration.
When Nick had laid out our itinerary, he’d taken into consideration a winter storm that was approaching from Canada and might affect our original route.
He’d suggested we take a southern route to avoid it and I’d agreed to find different places to stop for photo shoots.
But there was one town in Ohio that would be perfect for my new idea.
All I had to do was convince Nick to take the risk.
It would be like trying to move a mountain, which was why I was glad I still had hundreds of miles left to figure out how to get my way.