Chapter 19 #2
“That’s my little secret—but I’m reconsidering. Sweeping you off your feet was top five, at least.” Truth is, holding her when she needed me pretty much topped the charts of best-ever date moments.
Her huff rings through the air. “You’re just messing with me.”
And I’ll allow her to think so—for now.
She holds her palm in front of a vent and tweaks its aim. “Women do pull that kind of nonsense, you know that, right?”
“Not around me they don’t. Rand, maybe.”
I death-grip the wheel the second the words are past revocation. Crud.
“Who is Rand?”
Oh, right. “My brother.” And I am the king of idiots.
She generously allows the subject to lie, like a big old sleeping dog that would wreck the room if he got woken up.
I hate when I tip my hand to my lameness—and all when I was sailing like a champ through the usually choppy waters of the dating game.
Everly fiddles with the satellite radio and tunes to a channel playing classic Christmas tunes. More lights than usual string the city skyline, as well as the more suburban areas we pass through.
I lay my hand, palm up, on the console, and steal a peek. Her mouth breaks into a slow smile, and she places her hand in mine. Our fingers intertwine.
Maybe this holiday season is playing out alright after all.
Thankfully, for most of the drive, the roads are slick with simple wetness, but by the time we reach the western half of the area, away from the city, the windshield wipers clump with crystalized moisture. I detect a loss of traction on a bridge and ease up on the gas. “Roads are getting bad.”
Sitting a little straighter, Everly nods at the obvious situation. I’m well-accustomed to wintry driving, but ice is a slippery sucker, north or south. I’d feel a lot better with four-wheel-drive at my disposal.
The worst part about the deteriorating conditions is the need for two hands on the wheel. I could have held her hand until dawn.
We’re reduced to a measly thirty miles per hour when we pass a green and white sign reading, Chandor Next Three Exits. “How ’bout I drive you home and get the car back to you tomorrow?”
“That’s not necessary. We’re almost to the motel. I am perfectly capable of driving the two miles from there.”
“But your ankle.”
“Two miles, Knox. You do know I only let you drive this far because I didn’t want to argue?”
Not buying it. I’ve caught strained facial contortions every time she’s moved. “But the ice…”
“Are you insinuating I can’t handle icy roads because I’m a girl?”
For crying out loud. Thank heavens her tone suggests she’s teasing. I am thoroughly uninterested in some battle-of-the-sexes rivalry.
Nor am I apologizing that protectiveness comes part and parcel with my nature.
When we reach our exit, the car struggles with the moderate incline. Shoot. Conditions are deteriorating by the minute.
The motel parking lot is fuller than normal, my guess is, with cautious travelers using better judgment and calling it a night. I find a vacant spot several doors down from home sweet home. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yep.”
I frown. “You felt how much the tires were slipping, didn’t you?”
“I’ve driven on ice before.”
“Sure you have, but nobody drives well on ice.”
She huffs. “It’s now or never, Knox. It isn’t as if I can spend the night.”
Oh, right, that would be bad. So bad. I hook my finger into my tie, loosening the knot to allow some airflow.
She lifts an eyebrow and adds a tap of her fingers on her arm as if to insinuate I’m holding her up. I suppose I am, but I’m also in the mental process of surrendering the vision I’d dreamed up of kissing her goodnight at her front door, lights of Christmas twinkling around us.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea!” Duh. I should have thought of it sooner. “Why don’t I drive you in my truck? It’s got four wheel drive in case we slide off into a ditch or something.”
“Now that’s a plan I can get behind.” She begins gathering her things.
I cut the engine and meet her by her door as she slings her long legs out. We’re about to see how fine her ankle is.
“Aw man!” I scan the four corners of the parking lot. My truck isn’t in it. Right. Cliff was going to use it tonight. “Shoot.”
“What now?” Both Everly’s feet are on the wet pavement. She peels back a spray of hair the bitter wind slaps against her cheek.
I fill her in. She takes the news in stride and resorts to her original plan. I’m not happy, but what can a guy do—except help the lady hobble to the driver’s side?
Man, I want to kiss her more than ever, but the parking lot of a crummy motel while being pelted by sleet lacks appropriate ambience for the meaningful occasion I fully intend our first kiss to be.
I’m mid frustrated mental debate, standing in the open driver’s door, blocking Everly from the weather, when a clicking sound makes it clear the car engine absolutely positively is not going to turn over one more time tonight.
In a warped way, the evening morphs into my lucky night. Now, I won’t be left biting my fingernails off worrying the lady I am possibly falling for will turn into a popsicle in a frozen ditch.
Like most things, though, the situation is good news-bad news. No truck. No car.
Just one motel room.
With just one bed.