Chapter Nineteen Ren
Ren was up, dressed, and packed before Fitz had even rolled over in bed. She’d slept fitfully, thinking about Mount Rushmore as she closed her eyes, feeling content and excited and grateful. But when she finally managed to succumb to sleep, it wasn’t the faces of four past presidents she saw, it was Gloria on every facet of the monument. Four Glorias, staring down at her in anger and judgment, in sadness and betrayal. It was a twisty dream, and Ren woke tangled in her sheets, sweaty and heart racing.
But even the lingering memory of her mother’s stony face wasn’t enough to ruin Ren’s mood once she swept the curtains open and let in the bright Montana sunshine. She was lying to her parents, traveling across the country with a man she barely knew to see someone who may or may not be her father, she spent yesterday in a biker saloon, and her entire life could be a lie, but somehow Ren was still having more fun than she’d ever had before.
With Fitz.
Fitz, that confusing, guarded, funny, protective, hot softie asleep in the bed over there. Fitz, who’d been trying to get rid of her for the last two days but for a flash last night looked at her like she was something to be treasured. Fitz, who was quickly becoming her favorite part of this trip.
Speaking of the trip…Ren set her backpack by the door and walked over to his bed, lifting his heavy arm and using all her strength to roll him over.
He clung to his pillow. “No.”
“Yes! Adventure awaits!”
“The mountain isn’t going anywhere.”
“That’s right, but we are.” Ren tugged, harder. “Come on! Don’t we have a schedule to keep?”
Grumbling, he slid from the bed and then stood, stretching with a long, rough groan.
Ren’s gaze shot to the ceiling, where there was plaster and paint and texture and so very many things to examine that weren’t Fitz’s body. It was only once he was safely sealed in the bathroom with the shower running that Ren let herself think about the slice of torso she’d seen for only a second—how warm and hard it looked, about Fitz’s legs in his basketball shorts, so long and muscular and tan—and about how the photos in the bathroom at the Screaming Eagle didn’t look half as good as she imagined he would.
Not that she would ever see him naked.
Not that she wanted to see him naked.
Blowing out a breath, she sat down on her bed and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Maybe Gloria was right about a few things, because before Ren started breaking all these rules, she’d never spent much time at all contemplating naked men, and here she was, wondering if she’d ever stop thinking about them.
Or one specific man, at least.
They must have driven across the border into the twilight zone, because for once Fitz agreed to road games while they drove. They tried to find license plates from every single state and played Twenty Questions with items in the car. It was good that he’d become a willing companion because Ren honestly didn’t know how else they would have spent the hours on the road; even for someone who’d never been through this part of the country, the scenery wasn’t very stimulating. Hills to flat to hills to flat. By the time they reached their hotel in Rapid City, they were both ready to stretch their legs, and Ren was practically vibrating with excitement over the upcoming day trip.
Fitz’s relief was palpable when the man confirmed that the room had two beds, and Ren was glad to finally be able to pay for something. She covertly peeled a few twenties off her thick stack and slid them across to the man in exchange for two keys and a pamphlet.
Beside her, Fitz let out a small whimper, and Ren tracked his attention to where the glossy front page read WELCOME TO RAPID CITY, THE CITY OF PRESIDENTS! And just beneath it: Embark on our famous Scavenger Hunt to find all forty of the presidential bronze statues!
“Oh boy,” he mumbled, already laughing in defeat.
Ren shook the pamphlet in his wake as he turned to walk toward the elevators. “We have to do this.”
“No.”
“Fitz, you don’t understand. A scavenger hunt! For statues!”
He groaned, pushing the up button. “No, Sunshine.”
But even when he said it, he was fighting a smile. And no matter how hard he tried to smash it down, it lit his eyes up, sent those sweet lines crinkling the corners, and it was that struggle that set a tiny, vibrating firefly loose inside her chest. Fitz was having fun. With her.
“Do you know,” she said as they met at Max’s hood in the Mount Rushmore parking lot, “it took four hundred workers to finish this, and not a single one died?”
Fitz hummed, sliding on his sunglasses and peering up at the mountain, backlit by the overcast sky.
“And also,” she said, falling into step with him as he headed toward the entrance, “there’s a cave behind the sculptures called the Hall of Records, and it contains a vault with sixteen enamel panels with the Declaration of Independence carved into them?”
“You don’t say.”
“Also, the four presidents were chosen by the chief sculptor, and not the US government.” Another noncommittal hum. “And the original plan was to have the presidents shown from the waist up, but the project ran out of funding.”
Finally, he looked at her, smashing down that smile again. “Is that right?”
“It is.” They climbed a set of cement stairs, passed under the stone structure of the information center, and finally reached a long cement walkway lined with flagpoles. “This is the Avenue of Flags,” Ren whispered reverently.
“I guessed that,” he whispered back, “based on the huge letters right there that read ‘Avenue of Flags.’”
“Well,” she said, whispering again, “did you know that there are fifty-six flags here, one for every state and territory? Let’s find ours.”
With that, she took off, spotting the Idaho flag in the distance. It was blue, with the state seal in the center and a red-and-gold banner with the words STATE OF IDAHO just beneath it.
Fitz strolled closer, smiling when Ren hopped up onto the stone ledge beside the flagpole. “You want a picture?” He waved his phone, and it took her a beat to realize he meant a picture of her.
“Sure.” But Ren had so rarely had her photo taken, she felt immediately self-conscious. For Steve and Gloria, posing for photos was a sign of vanity. There had never been a camera on the homestead. Ren had seen cameras before, of course, in books and real life—Tammy took a picture of her once with a disposable Kodak, she’d taken a photo at the DMV, and Dr. Audran had used his Polaroid in class—but this felt different. This was a picture to create a memory, to capture the moment. She wanted to get it right.
Straightening, she crossed her arms. “No, wait, that looks angry.” She uncrossed them, but then they hung uselessly at her sides. Ren planted her fists on her hips, but that felt stupid. She dropped one arm, leaving one fist on her hip, and felt even more ridiculous. Finally, she gave up, admitting, “Fitz. I don’t know how to pose.”
“Just be you,” he said, and Ren let instinct take over. Fitz burst out laughing when she hugged the flagpole. “Okay, yes, that’s the right vibe.” Lifting the phone, he tapped the screen a few times. “Got it.”
“Let’s find yours now.” She looked down the long line of flags flapping in the chilly wind. “Your dad is the real estate mogul Robert Fitzsimmons, right? Isn’t he originally from New York?” Her jaw dropped in realization. “Fitz, were you born in New York?”
He squinted into the distance, his expression shuttering. “No, I was born and raised in Spokane.”
Reaching for Fitz’s arm, she tugged him down to the green Washington state flag. “Stand there.” She held out her hand for his phone. “Let me get your picture now.”
He unlocked it, setting it in her palm.
“Do something cute,” she told him from behind the phone.
Fitz scowled at this. “Cute?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant do something rough and masculine.”
He stared at her. “Just take the photo, Sunshine.”
“You look mad!” She peeked around the phone at him. “Do that sweet smile where your eyes crinkle and you look so handsome.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ren wanted to suck them right back in. Heat engulfed her cheeks as a wolfish grin spread over his lips. “The sweet smile where my eyes do what now?”
Ren quickly snapped a photo. “Okay. That one works, too.” Fitz laughed, and she took a few more, staring down at them. She’d captured the eye-crinkly smile after all, but she’d also captured that smoldering first expression. It wasn’t the fake enticement he used on everyone, and which she’d seen on his face countless times. This was the direct tether between his gaze and hers, the seductive curl of his full lips that carried what felt like a promise.
Ren’s blood heated, her pulse accelerating. But with a sinking sensation in her gut, she remembered Miriam’s warning: Don’t let him seduce you. He’ll only break your heart. Was this what her roommate meant? That Fitz knew how to captivate every kind of woman, especially one as inexperienced and naive as her? Was she simply a game to him? A sort of conquest he’d never made before?
She tried to shake away the longing, to look away from those penetrating eyes, but she couldn’t. For the first time ever, Ren wished she had a phone so she could send herself these pictures.
“Okay, weirdo,” he said, standing and taking his phone back, “stop falling in love with me, let’s go see that mountain.”
It took a few seconds for his words to penetrate, and when they did, he was already several steps away. Ren jogged after him. “I wasn’t falling in love with you.”
“You were.”
“Was not!”
“Staring at my photo with horny eyes.”
Mortified, she burst out, “Oh my God, I was not!”
Fitz stopped walking and nudged her with his elbow. “Will you stop arguing with me and look?”
She followed his attention up, up, up to the monument. “Huh.”
“Huh?” he repeated. “That’s it?”
“It’s smaller than I expected.”
“Some will say that it’s not the size that matters, but what you do with it.”
Ren slid her eyes to him, frowning. “I think you’re making a dirty joke.”
He laughed. “I might be.”
Taking a deep breath, she redirected. “Seeing this gives me mixed feelings, though. This land was stolen from the Lakota.” She gazed up at it. “I feel sort of guilty being excited to see it.”
“I know,” he said, and gently bumped his shoulder against hers. “But the way to handle problematic things isn’t to just pretend they aren’t there. It’s good to see it and feel this way. Also, you can still be impressed with the artistry. Both things can be true.”
This time Ren nudged his shoulder with hers. She liked the contact a little too much, but pushed the thought away. “That sounds very wise for someone who pretends to not care about anything.”
He laughed. “I’m not pretending.”
“Yes, you are,” she said. “You care a lot.”
When he looked over at her, Ren turned her eyes back up to the monument, unwilling to show how much it meant to her that he did.