Noelle
I t’s a four hour drive to Aspen Ridge, and we’re spending the whole freaking journey in stilted silence. At first, as we drove out of the city, there were logistics to go over. Key points about the meeting, stuff like that. That was fine.
Then we ran out of work-related things to say, so I tried putting the radio on. Big mistake.
We made it through six different channels, all blaring Christmas music, before Reid slapped it off with a snarl.
So.
Yeah.
Now it’s just us. Our steady breaths, the muffled rumble of the car engine, and the faint thud of my heart. Occasionally, we’ll drive under a dark cloud, and sleet patters against the roof.
“There’s a cow in that field.”
My boss grunts.
Reid’s car is sleek, black and fancy, with leather seats and that new car smell, even though he’s had it for at least the three years I’ve known him. Doesn’t he ever tramp mud in here? Or gobble down handfuls of fries at a drive in? Does he ever relax his ironclad control?
And who the hell doesn’t like cows?
“We could play a game,” I say, as though I’ve never met this man in my life. As if Reid Merryweather is even capable of such frivolity. If he ever plays games, they’re probably elite chess matches where everyone watches in silence, then groans politely when the player loses their queen.
But clearly the world is topsy-turvy today, because Reid glances at me, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, then says: “Alright.”
Oh my god. What?
Yay!
My mind goes blank.
Every game I’ve ever played, every dumb, fun way to kill time—it all falls out of my ears. There’s nothing left except shock ringing in my skull.
“Which game?” Reid clips out, his tone impatient, like he regrets this already. Well, you know what? Samesies. But there’s no way he’ll ever agree to this again, so I need to milk this opportunity for all it’s worth.
A game with Reid Merryweather? It’s on.
“I Spy?” My offer is wobbly. Unsure. I clear my throat and pretend like I’m not freaking out over this. “That’s a classic car game. What you do is—”
“I know how I Spy works, . Believe it or not, I had a childhood.” Reid gusts out a sigh then says, “F.”
The grin spreads over my face faster than I can bite it back. My legs cross and uncross, and my fingertips tap together in my lap. “So… you won’t say the rhyme?”
Dead silence.
Dead, dead silence.
“For god’s sake.” Then, as though he’s pulling teeth, Reid grits out: “I spy… with my little eye… something beginning with ‘F’.”
Empty scrubland rushes past the highway, dotted with barns. The dark clouds are getting thicker overhead, gathering in moody clumps.
This is the best day of my life. Reid Merryweather, grumpy boss and ultimate stern hottie, said the I Spy rhyme.
“Farmhouse?” Be cool, . Be cool. “Fields?”
Reid grunts. His jaw is tight as he nods.
And this is fine. This is normal.
This is a totally normal thing to get butterflies about.
My turn. “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘T.’”
“Trees.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cows. Barns. Sky. It’s not a long game, and we run out of things to spy pretty fast. But I’ve never seen my boss this mellow before, the whisper of a smile playing around his stern mouth, and I don’t want it to be over yet. Don’t want to go back to taut silence.
“How about Fuck, Marry, Kill?”
Reid frowns out at the highway, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “I don’t know that one.”
“It’s fun, I promise.” Let’s hope so, anyway. “I say the names of three famous people, and you say who you’d fuck, marry and kill.”
The look he gives me is so sour. Finally, Reid breaks eye contact and stares out at the road. “Go on, then.”
I name a Hollywood starlet, a supermodel, and a famous singer.
“Kill, kill and kill.”
Reid jumps when I burst out laughing.
“Oh my god.” He’s so grumpy, all his man-feathers ruffled up as he glares over at me, but I can’t stop wheezing with laughter. “You can’t kill them all, you psycho.”
“Why not?” His shoulders are tense, climbing up. “I don’t want to fuck or marry any of them, and there’s no ‘leave them alone’ option.”
Wiping away a tear, I slump back giggling. “Okay, okay. Um…”
I name three famous men. A billionaire, a rock star and a football player. You never know, right? Maybe I was presumptuous.
But Reid side-eyes me and says, “Kill, kill and kill.”
He really doesn’t get this game.
But I kind of love it. Now that I’m faced with the prospect, I don’t want to hear that Reid Merryweather would fuck another woman. Or a man. Don’t like picturing him with anyone but me.
Tragic, I know. Especially since he didn’t call me last night, even when I put myself out there like that. Made it so painfully obvious that I always want him to call, always want to hear his low voice, even after a whole day together. Because even though I moan about spending all of my time at work, I miss him terribly when we’re apart.
“Forget that one. Let’s play truth or dare.” Wriggling in my seat, I try to stretch out my stiff legs. Two hours down, two hours to go until we reach Aspen Ridge—though at least the scenery is getting prettier, dusted with a fine layer of white. “You know this one, right?”
Reid harrumphs. He’s slowed the car since we hit snow. “Seems self-explanatory.”
“Right. So… truth or dare?”
“I’m driving,” Reid says flatly. Always such a bundle of joy.
“Truth, then, I guess.” I pretend to think about it, tapping on my chin, then pluck up my courage. “Why didn’t you call me last night?”
Reid blinks out at the road. A truck rumbles past, going way too fast and rocking our car. Reid curses and slows even more.
“Because it was after work hours,” he says at last.
And… bleurgh. Was I expecting a real answer there? Honestly?
“You’ve gone quiet.” Reid’s voice is hushed too, like he senses this conversation is delicate, and his jaw clenches when I shrug. He’s probably pissed that I’m being such a baby, making things awkward, and that’s fair… but I can’t help it.
Three years, I’ve longed for this man, and he doesn’t think of me. Only sees me as an assistant. Bet he’d swap me out for Siri if he could, because he’s always rolling his eyes at my bright clothes, the tunes I sing, and the cute lunch bags I pack myself.
He’s the best part of my day, and I’m an irritation for him to suffer through.
“Your turn.” Reid’s thumb taps against the steering wheel, impatient.
“Dare.” As if I’d ever pick truth now. Please . I’d rather poke out my own eyeballs than confess anything to this man.
“I dare you to tell me what’s bothering you.”
Ugh! That is such bullshit!
“Stop loopholing me. You are such a lawyer—”
“Tell me, .”
Neck tight, I peer around the car, but my boss is too freaking tidy. There’s nothing loose to throw at his head.
“Tell me,” he says again. Always so stern. Always so bossy. And usually I love that, I love his pinched eyebrows and hard jaw and piercing eyes, but right now, I’d happily commando roll out of the window onto the snowy highway to avoid him.
“. Tell me.”
Fine! Whatever! I throw up my hands.
“I’m hurt, okay? I wanted you to call.” My throat is tight, and this moment couldn’t be more humiliating if it tried. I hate Reid for forcing this out of me. “I forgot that you don’t like people, Reid. That you don’t like me . Sometimes I forget, and the reminder… it sucks.”
Reid is quiet for a long, long time. As the snow falls thicker, he flicks on the wipers.
Then he turns on the radio, and we listen to Christmas music all the way to Aspen Ridge.