7. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Stone
I knock on the door once more, but after another minute of waiting, there’s still no sign of life. It’s 6:08 in the morning, indicating I’ve been at this for eight minutes.
“Lucy May!” I shout, rapping my knuckles against the white door. “We’ve got to go!” Humidity mingled with heightened nerves is not boding well for me as sweat beads roll down the back of my neck.
And no, the nerves are not because I am about to be in a vehicle for six hours with Lucy. I can manage that. They aren’t even because she’s going to meet my family as my girlfriend. I fully trust in her capabilities of playing pretend with me.
I’m a bundle of nerves because the woman won’t answer the door or her phone, and I’m halfway to the irrational conclusion that she’s dead inside this building. I lazily swat at the wilted plant inside a terracotta pot by the door as I exhale a long breath. I don’t have lockpicking skills, but surely it can’t be too hard ?
If that doesn’t work, I might kick the door in, which neither of us will be happy about in the long run.
I try to call her again, but her phone goes straight to voicemail as if she has it turned off. Something could seriously be wrong and no one would know because she lives in this little space all by herself. Does she have medical issues? I should know this as her boss!
“Dang it, Lucy.” I curse under my breath, running a hand through my still-wet hair. I pound on the door and holler her name. “Is everything okay? I’m barging in soon if you don’t answer me.”
I swiftly look around the building, but no one seems to have poked their head out of their door to check out the chaos on the second floor. After attempting to call again and jiggling the golden knob one last time (maybe I didn’t turn it hard enough?), I take a couple steps back from the door. I’m leaning back against the metal railing that serves as a small balcony for the apartment, bouncing up and down and shaking out of my hands. “On the count of three, I’m kicking the door in, Lucy! One.” I kick out my feet to flex my ankles. “Two.” I dip into a little squat. “Three!” I extend my leg, and with as much force as I can muster, I kick the door.
Something cracks, but the door doesn’t give way. I use the adrenaline pumping through my veins to catapult my body into the door, using my strong side—my right shoulder—as the primary contact point. The door flies open, splinters showering around me as I stumble into the darkened room, breaths labored and heavy.
An ear-splitting female scream pierces me as something hard hits my face. I collapse to my knees when I hear a crunch and a wave of nausea overtakes me, something darker than blackness covering my vision.
S oft fingers run through my hair, gently massaging my scalp. On my forearm, another set of gentle fingers caress my skin, leaving a heat trail as they roam. The touch feels like it’s jolting my body, bringing back to life.
Because for some reason, I think I was dead.
Or a girl was dead.
I don’t know.
I think someone was dead or dying.
My head is fuzzy and my face hurts, but my brain seems to think death was involved in some form or fashion. The warm smell of spicy vanilla encapsulates me, and I try to open my eyes to pinpoint the source of Lucy’s signature scent.
But my eyes won’t open.
I groan as I try again to no avail.
“Stone, oh thank God!” a worried, feminine voice speaks from somewhere above me, and I have the faintest recollection that the voice belongs with the electric fingers and dessert smell.
Lucy.
I try to say her name, but only another groan escapes my lips. Her fingers grip my hair and my forearm.
Open your eyes, Stone. At the insistent command, I blink, a bright light blinds me, and I immediately squeeze my eyes shut again. My head explodes in pain, and my stomach threatens to let breakfast make a reappearance.
“Lucy,” I finally manage to say.
She releases her grip, her hands cupping my face now. “I’m here, Stone. I’m here. I’m—” A sob cuts off her words. I finally open my eyes and take in her frizzy red hair, smudged dark circles underneath her wide, worried eyes, and pinkened lines that seem to connect her freckles into a striped constellation across her puffy face.
“Lion,” I choke on the word as I attempt to hold in a laugh. She’s the human embodiment of the animal right now. Laughter breaks through, but I immediately cease because my nose scrunches and sends pain signals singing a malevolent tune through my system.
“Sh, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m so sorry, Stone…” Tears fill her eyes, causing that hazel color to shine on the side of emerald green.
It registers that she is calling me by my first name instead of Mr. Harper, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved the sound of my name as much as I do at this moment. I grin, even though the pain it causes in my face would put me on the ground if I wasn’t there already. “Please never call me Mr. Harper again,” I croak out in a hoarse voice. So much for being suave. I close my eyes and breath. “Unless we’re role playing. I’m down for role play.”
She slaps my arm but laughs through tears. “I guess I can officially not be worried anymore. You’re obviously okay.”
I open my eyes to find her relieved smile as she sits back on her legs. “But what exactly happened? My face feels like it was hit with a cast iron skillet, and I’m pretty sure my nose is broken based on my voice, the pain, the nausea, and the blood.” I only just notice the blood on her hands as she folds them in her lap beside me.
“Your face was hit with a cast iron skillet, and it was my cast iron skillet, and I am deeply sorry for injuring your nose and ruining your pretty face. In my defense, I thought you were intending harm to me by bursting into my apartment. I used the smallest skillet. And I’m honestly not very strong, so there’s that.”
A meow comes from somewhere in the room like the cat is in agreement with Lucy. But honestly? I’m still stuck on “pretty face.”
“You think my face is pretty?” I ask her, attempting a smirk but scowling in pain instead. Looks like my flirty facial expressions are on hold for the foreseeable future. That’s going to make my pretend dating thing a smidge more difficult since I survive solely by flirty looks and body language.
Home. The wedding.
“We are supposed to be headed to Dasher Valley,” I say, scrambling to get up. The moment I move, dizziness captures me, and I fall back into Lucy’s waiting arms.
“Not until we get you checked out by a doctor.”
I sigh, knowing there is no way around this. “You know, Lucy May, I think you might very well be the death of me at this rate. First the crabs and now this. I knocked, called, and yelled your name.”
“The only thing I heard, which is what jolted me out of bed, was my door being kicked in. I had completely spaced that you were picking me up in that fearful moment. ”
That makes sense. She was some kind of dead, I guess. Dead asleep.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I have the sudden memory of her hands in my hair.
“Run your hands through my hair one more time,” I say without thinking. I instantly regret the words because they make me seem needy and desperate, but the moment she obliges, I forget I should care. Instead, I let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a purr at the pure feeling of bliss that is numbing the pain in my head.
Her cat answers my call and licks my cheek.
“Okay, time to go.”
T he next couple of hours are somewhat of a blur (thankfully and miraculously, my nose wasn’t broken), and before I know it, we are on the road headed to Dasher Valley.
Except this was not the scenario I had in mind.
In my head, I would drive Lucy to my hometown, stopping at a Cal’s Diner, which is stationed around the halfway mark. We would share a shake, and I would quiz her on everything she’d need to know to keep our fake dating cover intact. We’d have so much fun talking, singing to random songs, and getting to know each other that the six hours would breeze by. Heck, by the end of the drive, she’d be in love with me and pretending wouldn’t be so difficult for her. Where we went from there was a mystery because commitment is not for me, but I would sure have a good time figuring it out.
Instead, Lucy is driving at a snail’s pace, which she constantly reminds me is not normal for her. She’s only going slow because my motorcycle is in the back of the truck, I’m injured, and this is a new route for her.
I’m glad she’s going slow. I won’t lie and say I feel easy about her driving my truck, especially because my precious bike is on board.
Music plays softly in the background but not too loud because I’m still fighting off a headache from getting hit in the head with a cast iron skillet simply because I had worked myself up into a fuss thinking something was wrong with Lucy.
The reality?
She’s apparently not a morning person, went to bed too late from writing, and forgot to charge her phone.
All very innocent.
Or not.
I’m the one with a bruised nose and newly developing raccoon eyes. She only has a weight of guilt and now has to drive us.
“We have about four more hours to go. Do you need to stop for a bathroom break or anything before we pass this next exit?” Her eyes flit from her GPS to the road as I lean against the passenger window, my head on a pillow and my gaze tuned into her.
“I’m good for now. There’s a diner about an hour away if you want to stop there for food.”
“That sounds nice,” she responds quietly. Then she adds, “I truly am very sorry. I wish there was a better way to apologize. ”
“It’s okay, Lucy. I’ve broken my nose before, which is worse than only having it injured and bruised. I’ll survive. I understand you were frightened, and well, I’m glad you can defend yourself. That’s a good thing.”
She breathes out heavily and a smile pulls at the edges of her pink lips.
“But for heaven’s sake, please charge your phone at night so something like this doesn’t happen again.”
“Right,” she says with a sharp nod, her timid smile blossoming into something full and bright. I can’t help the way I smile in return, though it seriously hurts.
The sound of soft country music fills the silence as I look Lucy over. She’s wearing a flowy, long floral skirt that sits above her belly button, a peek of pale skin showing between the edge of the skirt and the start of her long-sleeved white, buttoned crop top. Her hair is thrown into a top-knot with only her cute bangs tamed. Flyaways and little hairs poke out around her head, but instead of looking messy, she looks wild and fierce. Like a lion.
The image of her hovering above me when I first opened my eyes reappears, and I fight off a snicker.
“So, my little lion, should we get our history straight?”
“Huh?” she says, knitting her eyebrows together as she focuses on the road. “What history?”
I’m surprised she didn’t question my newly found nickname for her. It’s honestly kind of a let down. I like when she gets heated and feisty. Like a little lion .
“Our dating history. Off the top of my head, I suggest we’ve been dating since April, I asked you out, and you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
She snorts, ripping her eyes from the road and turning the amused expression my way before she snaps her attention back to driving. She’s laughing as she says, “April sounds good. Yes, you did ask me out… over and over again. Since February, actually. And I finally said yes in April to try and get you off my case. Turns out you weren’t as bad as I had you pegged to be, and I fell for you. But just as I am hopelessly in love with you, you are smitten with me. So much so that you would destroy galaxies and wipe out civilizations in my honor.”
The rumble of the road beneath the truck tires accompanies a soft and slow country love song. I blink, staring with amazement at Lucy, wondering about who she is down to the strands of DNA that make up her person.
“I’m sorry. That was too much. You are simply smitten with me,” she says in a quiet voice, her demeanor becoming tight and rigid. I have the sudden urge to take her hand in mine and reassure her of… whatever she needs right now, but she’s driving, and well, I don’t think I’ve earned that privilege yet. I may be a tease and hopeless flirt, but I do respect physical boundaries.
At least while we are alone and not playing pretend for people.
“I like it,” I beam. “It fits my character: bold, relentless, and sumptuous. Lucy May, while you are my fake girlfriend, I will be entirely smitten with you. So much so that I will go all Thanos on the universe if it so much as offends you.”
I watch her stiffened shoulders relax an inch and her knuckles loosen on the steering wheel as she breaks out in a grin.
Narrowing my eyes as if to evaluate her, I ask, “Did you think I would be taken aback by you suggesting I become the morally gray hero of your story while we pretend to date?”
She chuckles nervously but then breathes a sigh of release. “A little, I guess. I got caught up in setting the tone of your epic love story that Romance Writer Brain took over. Don’t worry. I know it’s not realistic as I’ve been told before. And I do not expect you to avenge my honor. Instead, let’s talk about how my younger man knows big words like sumptuous.”
“It could be,” I state plainly, ignoring her comment about my age and word usage so that unwanted memories don’t resurface. I may look like an athletic meathead, but there’s much more to me than that. Like the fact that I read often. She looks at me, a perplexed expression crossing her face. “To clarify, if some man so much as looks at you wrong while you are dating me, even if our relationship is pretend, he’s got another thing coming for him. No one toys with a girl when she’s with me. She’s only mine to play with.” I wink for good measure, but then the truck bounces, accompanied by a loud rumbling sound. My heart picks up as I realize she’s running us off the road. Lucy yanks her attention (and the wheel) back onto the road. I let out a deep breath. “Eyes on the road, or there will be no play time for you, Little Lion.”
She grits her teeth and murmurs an apology, her eyes once more glued to the two-lane highway.
After a few minutes, Lucy speaks up. “Okay, so we have the basics down. Will your parents ask us about our first date? How many details do we need to have up our sleeve? I’m great at thinking of things on the spot, but I do want to be as prepared as possible.”
“My family won’t pry too much. I think. At least they don’t with me. My mom and sister tend to let me do my thing. They may question who I’m with and how things are going, but they don’t seem to need too many details. They know it won’t last long. Though, it has been a different experience with you since I said—”
I cut myself off, realizing I was on the verge of telling her my family already knows about her.
“Said what, Mr. Harper?” Lucy narrows her eyes suspiciously in my direction.
“It’s funny,” I say with a mirthless laugh. Might as well tell her. Hopefully she won’t be too mad. “I may have actually told my mom and sister back in April that you were my girlfriend to get them off my back about committing and settling down…”
Moments pass before she bursts out in laughter. “Oh my gosh. You did not. No wonder you needed me for this trip specifically. Oh man. You’re lucky I ruined lunch for us yesterday, or you never would have gotten me to agree to this sort of thing.”
She shakes her head, and I find myself grinning ear to ear. I enjoy how easygoing she can be at times. “Oh, is that so? I can think of a few ways I could have gotten you to agree to a weekend rendezvous with me.”
“You’re a real lady-killer, aren’t you?” she asks rhetorically, snickering and shaking her head.
“Are my charms working on you?”
“Not a chance, Pebbles.”
“Pebbles? ”
“Little, tiny stones.” Her grin is victorious, and when I raise an eyebrow at her, she only laughs.
Shaking my head, I join in her laughter simply because I like the sound of it. But then she stops and sneaks a look at me. “You mentioned your mom and sister twice but not your dad.”
My heart aches with a familiar twinge of loss that has somehow simultaneously dulled over the years and remained the same. “He passed away a long time ago. When I was only a boy.”
“Hm,” she says with a nod, her eyes fixed on the road. “So you had to be the man of the house growing up, huh?”
I’m shocked by her statement. I’m used to the “I’m sorry” or “That must suck” type of responses.
“Sorry. You don’t have to answer that,” she hurriedly says.
“No, it’s fine. Just took me by surprise. Yes. That’s exactly what I did. I tried to fill his shoes, though, to be fair, they were pretty large for a boy like me.”
She laughs lightly at my weak joke, and I’m thankful. I continue. “My family consists of my mother, Marian, my older sister, Stella, and her husband, Lucas. You’ll probably meet our family friends, Gracie and Jared, and, oh… Mom’s new husband as of about a year ago, the pastor of Dasher Valley Baptist, Brother Johnny.”
“Got it.” Lucy nods her head affirmatively.
“And they are all really looking forward to meeting you. Especially my sister and Gracie. You might have to give details to those two if they pull you away from me, but I promise to try and prevent that from happening.”
“It’ll be okay. Like I said, I’m good at coming up with things on the spot. Part of my charm as a romance writer.” She does this little side to side head tilt thing as she bounces her shoulders. The action is playful and cute and cheerful, like she’s up to the task of creating some lovey-dovey backstory for us. “Oh, I love this song.”
She turns up the volume and sings along with “Take Back Home Girl” by Chris Lane and Tori Kelly. As the words resonate, and I lose myself in Lucy’s little driver-style dance moves, I can’t help but wonder if I will ever meet a woman that I want to take home to Dasher Valley for real. So far, Lacey is the only one of my girlfriends to meet my family, and that was mostly because we were in high school together and dated for over a year. Lucy is only the second woman, but this is all a ruse, so it doesn’t really count.
When the song comes to an end, Lucy catches me staring at her and apologizes for dancing and singing too loud.
I brush her off and tell her she can dance and sing as much as she wants as long as she keeps us on the road, but in the back of my mind, I wonder who ever told her to dull her shine.