Chapter Eighteen Fitz
Billings, Montana, offered up a motel room with twin beds, which was both a blessing and a curse. The upside, of course, was that Fitz wouldn’t be on the floor, waking up with a sore back. The downside, unfortunately, was that he could lie there, turn his head to the side, and pretend that the four feet of space between their beds had disappeared. Not that he wanted that, of course.
Ren was on her stomach over on her bed, wearing the sleep shorts he was relieved to see existed and the roomy T-shirt, with a pizza box splayed open in front of her, legs kicking behind her in delight as she watched the first movie in the Hobbit trilogy.
He wanted to go back to the Fitz of twelve hours ago, the one who felt determined to put this tiny, blond obstacle on a bus headed west. He didn’t want to keep thinking about the scene back at the saloon, where she was fearless and beautiful and naive and irresistible all at once. He didn’t want feelings of warm spring wind passing over his arm from an open window, and Ren’s pretty voice singing absently along to an oldies station they’d found when his Spotify dropped out of cell range. He didn’t want to see the world through the eyes of someone who was experiencing the most basic of things for the very first time: delivery pizza, on-demand post-1990 movies with decent CGI, the apparent splendor of a run-down lobby in a Motel 6. Everything Ren did, she did with enthusiasm, and without any ego or pretense whatsoever.
He had a vague uneasiness settling in his chest, like something huge had shifted inside, a boulder rolled over to reveal a secret opening. He worried he would never be the same again.
He wanted to be the same. This was a skin he’d worked hard to become comfortable wearing: Fitz, who could insinuate himself into any world to get what he needed; Fitz, who was at his best when he only pretended to care what other people thought; Fitz, who had one—and only one—path forward. But the only thought he had tonight wasn’t compatible with any of that: Why was I in such a rush to get rid of her?
Don’t talk to her, he told himself now. Zone out. Scroll Instagram. Catch up on baseball scores. Stare at the ceiling.
It was like being carbonated and sealed in an aluminum vessel. Every time she laughed or gasped or made a sound of awe, he wanted to look over and see what it was that caught her attention.
He wanted her attention.
What the hell was happening to him?
“I didn’t know you like to paint,” he said out of absolutely nowhere.
She glanced away from the movie and reached for the remote, pausing it. “What’s that?”
“I knew you drew, I guess. The card, I mean, from before we left,” he stammered, as he remembered the card. That amazing, intricate card she must have spent hours drawing. He cleared his throat. “But today at the bar, your story about the paints. Then, when you emptied your bag, you had some paintbrushes in there. A science whiz, a petty criminal, and a painter. Who knew?”
She laughed. “Gloria says I started painting the second we arrived at the homestead. She says it’s how she knew I was supposed to be there.”
“How old were you when you moved there?”
“I think I was around three.”
“Where did you live before?”
She frowned down at the bedspread. “I don’t know, actually.”
“What kinds of things do you usually paint?”
Ren hopped off the bed to walk over to her bag. Digging around, she grabbed her notebook, and before he realized what was happening, she settled down beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, with their backs against the narrow headboard, she flipped through the pages, showing him what was there. There were a few sketches of people—including her roommate, Miriam—a pig, a cat, a view out the door of her bedroom back home, and her cabin from the outside. But those weren’t the main event, not even close. Because surrounding every object and taking up all the remaining space on every page were the same tiny explosions she’d drawn all over his thank-you card: the most detailed fireworks he’d ever seen. In the world of Ren’s imagination, the air was made of playful fire, mischievous sparklers, sensual licks of color.
“These are insane,” he said, slowly flipping through them. “The fireworks—they’re really good.”
“Thank you.” She reached over, tracing her finger around a swirl of fiery yellow.
“I like how you choose colors for them based on the subject.” He pointed to one of a pig in which the sparklers were green, brown, and purple. “It’s just a pig eating from a trough, but the way the page is filled with color feels so playful and…beautiful, actually.”
“That’s a really nice thing to say, Fitz.”
“I’ve never seen fireworks drawn with so much detail before.”
“When I was little I thought they were called flowerworks. I thought they were magical flowers in the sky.”
He laughed. “That’s cute.”
Fitz wasn’t sure who was more shocked that he’d said it. She turned to look at him, and he couldn’t help it, the way his attention dipped to her mouth again. When he forced his gaze back up, she was slow to follow. She’d been doing the same thing.
He needed her off his bed.
“I was thinking we could take a little detour tomorrow,” he said, standing, walking away from the bed, needing something else to do with himself.
Ren followed and dropped her notebook back into her bag. “A detour?”
“We’ll be passing by Mount Rushmore, and I thought maybe we could go. If you wanted.”
“You’re not in a hurry to get to Nashville?”
“I mean…if it was just me, yeah, I’d power through. But you haven’t seen any of the country yet, have you?”
“No.” Before he had time to react, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I do want to go. Oh my gosh, thank you, Fitz.”
Frozen, he stared blankly at the wall over her shoulder for a few stunned seconds before he lifted his arms and closed them around her shoulders. She exhaled into the hug, molding to him. Holy shit, it felt so good. He gave himself five seconds to enjoy it. He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet honey scent of her hair. And then he released her, stepping back. “You didn’t have to hug me, we’re just going to see some old white dudes on a rock.”
“I was excited. Sorry. I’ve read so much about it.”
“Does that mean you’re going to talk my ear off in the car?”
She was too smart for him. She read the lie in his voice, saw it all over his face. Fitz didn’t know why, but he was finding it impossible to maintain his fa?ade with her. “Yes,” she said, grinning, “and you’ll love it, don’t lie.”
“We can’t take too long.”
She lifted her arm in a salute and then winced. “Whoops. Rule number two. Sorry.”
Ren skipped back to her bed and launched herself onto it, hitting play again on the remote. Fitz did a terrible job of focusing on the movie, the wall, anything but her, his own thoughts screaming at him that these were not emotions he should be having. The idea of being attracted to Ren was a shock; the idea of being tender toward her was unacceptable. Although it was different, of course, with Mary, Fitz knew his brand of tenderness was fierce. He would move mountains for Mary; would spend his life ensuring that hers was comfortable and safe. Fitz didn’t have room for someone else to worry over. He’d make time for flings; he did not have time for fondness.
The movie ended, and they met at the bathroom sink, standing side by side while they brushed their teeth. Ren made a face in the mirror, eyes crossed, and lip curled goofily.
“You’re weird,” he told her.
“You’re weirder.” She bent, spitting and rinsing, and he went next.
In the dark, he heard her fluffing her pillow and letting out a long, happy sigh. He wondered what today was like for her, whether she’d look back and see it as a turning point the same way he was starting to. He wondered if that moment when he’d caught her in the Screaming Eagle Saloon changed everything for her, too.
“Sunshine?”
She paused a beat before answering, and he heard it, too, how different this new nickname sounded in the dark. How adoring. “Yeah?”
“Your mom’s wrong, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t need your parents to keep you safe. You’re scrappy.”
Her voice sounded bubbly with pride. “I am?”
“Yep.” He rolled over and willed his heart to stop beating so fast. “You can absolutely take care of yourself.”