Chapter 17 - Nicole #2
We fell into another stretch of silence, music humming low in the background, windows down to let in wind that tangled our hair.
By late afternoon, the sun was dipping, turning the landscape copper, and we were running low on snacks.
That meant a gas station stop. I grabbed protein bars and a soda, Landon muttering about caffeine intake.
“Better safe than sorry,” I said, tossing him a bottle of water.
Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be more hours, more of them passed, mile markers ticked by.
We bickered over stupid things, we talked about nothing in particular, we got lost once, sending us through a narrow back road lined with cornfields.
I laughed so hard I had to hold the seatbelt to keep from sliding off my seat while Landon filled me in on GPS conspiracy theories.
By evening, we weren’t really listening to the music all that much. We just let it play as background filler to the road and our easy conversation.
Heat rose in my chest as I stole a glance in his direction. I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Not James. Not even Rosemary.
“You’re not so bad, Landon.” His name came out as a yawn, and my head rolled back, eyes drooping.
“I could say the same about you,” he replied.
We were quiet after that, mostly. Words weren’t necessary. The road stretched long, the sky turning pink and violet above us. We passed another rest stop, but neither of us needed it. Fatigue pressed against our shoulders, and the kind of conversation that required words didn’t seem urgent anymore.
Finally, headlights ahead flickered over a familiar neon sign. Landon slowed, pulling the SUV into the lot, tires crunching gravel. A diner. Evening light made the windows glow warm. He killed the engine and sat back, stretching his arms over the wheel.
I threw my door open and kicked my legs out to savor the space. This had been perfect. Eight hours of ridiculousness, frustration, laughter, teasing, and quiet moments that had somehow contracted and folded us together.
Whatever happened with us, I was ready to bet my holy grail we’d at least stay friends.
Landon gestured at the glowing diner. “Hungry?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. The doors gleamed in the dusky light, the promise of food, heat, and a pause from the last bit of road just ahead.
The diner smelled like bacon and buttered toast the second we stepped inside, a little slice of small-town heaven that made the last few hours of road almost worth it. We slid into a booth near the window, the sun dipping low, casting streaks of gold across the red vinyl seats.
“I need something that will hit all the food groups,” I said, scanning the laminated menu like it held the answers to life itself. “Protein, carbs, sugar… all of it.”
“You’re in luck,” Landon said, flicking his eyes over the same menu. “This place is a one-stop shop for heart-stopping nutrition. Literally.”
“So you’re a food critic now, huh?” I chuckled low.
“An athlete who gets paid to keep his heart in optimal condition.”
The athlete didn’t object when I ordered a plate piled high with fried chicken, creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, buttery corn on the side, and a slice of pecan pie to finish.
Landon had coffee and a side of fries. I went for sweet tea.
When the food arrived, it was everything I’d hoped for—rich, salty, sweet.
I dug in immediately, savoring every bite, while Landon was satisfied picking at his fries.
“You really commit,” he said. “I like that.”
“I commit to food,” I replied, giving him a pointed look that earned a laugh.
Halfway through our plates, Landon leaned back, coffee in hand. “So,” he said casually, “I went ahead and booked us a hotel for tonight.”
I nearly choked on my tea. “You did what?”
“Before you panic,” he said, holding up a hand, “ It’s strictly platonic. Just a place to crash after we hit the collector. Can’t exactly drive all the way back at this hour. We pick up the helmet, check in for the night, then leave first thing in the morning. Easy.”
I exhaled, not really sure if I were relieved or disappointed. “Okay… that works.”
He leaned forward, eyes glinting. “I figured, after today, you shouldn’t have to worry about driving until your legs fall off.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, taking another bite, though my mind already started racing through what “platonic overnight” might mean in terms of beds, blankets… and whether I was going to have to negotiate personal space with Landon Cross.
We ate in a comfortable rhythm after that, quiet moments punctuated with laughter over stories from the road—how I’d had to handle the flat tire, Landon’s attempts to choose the radio station, my emergency bathroom detour.
Eight hours, countless stops, constant teasing.
It was exhausting and exhilarating at once.
Finally, we finished, paid the check, and loaded back into the car.
The drive stretched on for what felt like both forever and in an instant, the highway ribboning out in front of us, the sun sinking lower behind distant trees.
My excitement for the helmet surged with every mile. I was practically vibrating.
When we finally pulled up to the collector’s place, a modest brick building set back from the road, I jumped from the car before Landon had fully parked. I managed to contain myself until he’d come up beside me, and that’s when I knocked.
“Can you believe this?”
He fixed me with a self-satisfied smile. “Well, I kind of arranged the whole thing, so yeah. I believe it.”
I swallowed my excitement and took a breath, trying to slow it, because after all the searching, all the trouble we’d gone through, I couldn’t believe it was finally here. My eyes stayed glued to the front door, anticipating the moment the man inside would appear.
The door swung open, and a man in a flannel shirt and worn jeans stepped into the threshold.
Landon shifted beside me, giving a quick nod. “We’re here about the signed Alex Granger helmet. You spoke to a colleague of mine yesterday and said you’d hold it? For Nicole Gordon.”
The man’s expression faltered, and my stomach dropped before he spoke.
“I… I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit. I sold it earlier today, actually. Some guy came around offering double.”
The words hit me like ice water to the face.
“Wait… sold?” I echoed, disbelief straining my voice. “But… You said—”
“I know,” the man interrupted gently. “I’m really sorry.”
I turned to Landon, devastated. “I guess you were right. We should’ve flown here.”
His hand found mine instinctively, squeezing it. “Do you have any idea who bought it? Maybe I could get in touch. I’ll pay whatever it takes. I don’t care.”
The collector shook his head. “Nope. All I have is the cash, nothing else. Sorry again. You’re just… too late.”
I sank back against the wall, feeling like the world had tilted beneath me. I’d imagined this moment a thousand times—the helmet in my hands, the culmination of years hunting it down—and now it was gone.