10
“Do you have any CDs by artists younger than, I don’t know, sixty?”
“Better than thirteen,”he mutters.
This is actually good. The grizzly bear is responding with words now. Grumpy ones, sure, but I’ll take it.
I didn’t mean to start our trip home with an insult to his taste in music but I chickened out on my grand plan earlier. I pretended to sleep again the whole way into Kansas. All Adam said to me was an unhappy hello and a reluctant okay when I asked to be in charge of the Garmin. That was it. For hours.
I can only take so much of this tension.
Then there was the actual job site. This trip was to an active construction project, so the visit was more for Adam and Bell Construction than it was for me and Canton Cards. All I did was some introductory meetings with the new property manager and store managers.
But Adam…
Adam worked.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy do so much lifting, hauling, shoving and shifting. I know I’ve never seen such big muscles in action right in front of me. And I work out at the OU campus gym!
The sweating and grunting underneath his hardhat was one thing.
Hearing so much of his actual voice was another experience altogether.
The workers asked him questions and he didn’t hesitate. Move this here, that corner is wrong, you missed this from the blueprints on and on, so many words. He can, in fact, speak in full sentences.
To other men.
Or to anyone who is not me?
I’m not sure. But after thirty minutes of almost total silence yet again on the way home, the book of CDs that slid out from under my seat was an easy target.
“She’s not thirteen she’s twenty,” I huff. “And talent is talent, no matter the age.”
“Won’t last.”
“Pft. She will be a legend. You’ll see,” I say, reluctantly hitting next on my iPod to skip both Taylor Swift albums. So far he’s sighed or glared about her and all my other pop country, most of my favorite musicals, and even some of my classic rock selections. I try Rick Springfield.
“No!” He says, almost yelling.
“What?! Jessie’s Girl is a classic!”
“Overplayed.”
“What about this?” I say when For the Longest Time by Billy Joel comes on. He gives me a half shrug that seems like he agrees. “Sounds like something my sisters and I would sing.”
“You sing?”
“Not really. Just harmonies. I mostly try to keep up with Sadie. She’s the real singer. You?” Smashing my stupid eyes shut as soon as I ask. Moron! There is no way Adam Bell sings. The chuffing sound he makes confirms it.
I muster up my bravery and start on my list.
“Any other hobbies?” He just looks at me, confusion furrowing his brows down so low I’m surprised he can see. “Ooookay, so. Classic rock for music. What about favorite movie? Favorite color?” He sighs, turning his face back to the road without answering. “Okay, likes all colors. Fine. How about favorite movie?”
“Is that a list?” He looks at my lap like I’m holding a pile of steaming, stinky crap in my hand and not a printout of 0 Getting to Know You questions courtesy of the People Magazine website.
I shift the papers in my lap. “Look, with Josh we just talked, but you—” His jaw clenches so hard I wait to hear a tooth crack. “I thought this might help us, you know, get to know each other, but it’s fine, we can just embrace the silence and—”
“Red,” he sighs loudly.
If he thinks his sour tone is going to distract from the fact that he just answered one of my questions, fat freaking chance.
I smile. “Nice. Mine is purple, shocker.” I gesture to myself.
He scoffs, glancing at the Canton logo on my company dri-fit short sleeve shirt. “You really drink the company kool-aid, huh?”
“Uh huh!” I chuckle at myself, then double down. “It’s grape flavored.” I wait for a little huff or maybe a smile. “The kool aid. You know, because it’s purple?”
“I got it.” He mutters.
“Sense of humor…None.” I pretend to write. It’s dark in the cab now since we left later than planned, but he can see my hands angrily fake scribbling as we pass under an overhead highway light.
“I have a sense of humor.” He grouses.
I turn my body in my seat, “Really? Because I’ve never heard you laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you smile. Do you have teeth? Tell me, how do you chew your food?”
His bottom lip falls in shock as his bushy eyebrows clamp down above his eyes. “If something’s funny, I’ll laugh.”
“Why are you so grumpy?”
“Why are you so annoying?”
“Annoying! I’m delightful! I am a delight! You’re just a mean, crusty old fart of a man somehow stuck in the body of a twenty-two year old.”
“And you’re a—”
“Take Exit 1B in one mile.” The British lady inside Adam’s GPS cuts him off. And I remember where we’re going. Another silly little detour that Old Man Bell to my left doesn’t know about.
“Why are we exiting?”
I avoid looking at him and try to sound casual. “So I can go to the bathroom.”
I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my face like a drill, but I don’t turn. He says nothing, of course, but for the first time I feel that static in the air, like he has words simmering inside him and at any point they’re going to boil over.
The tension remains as Adam pulls off the highway, following Garmin Lady’s instructions. Billy Joel songs still play, barely audible in the background. I fight the urge to say anything, since my excitement is wasted on my companion. He didn’t appreciate the Popeye monument—small and strange as it was—he won’t enjoy the World’s Largest Ball of Twine either.
Like last time, we are led past bright, welcoming gas stations to an older, sketchier area. And darker. Where are all the street lamps?
I sneak a glance at Adam when we pass a Dollar General. His go-to frown glows in the dim yellow lights, mixed with a healthy bit of apprehension. I should really start researching these landmarks more before adding them to the itinerary. Just as I’m bout to admit that out loud, Adam puts the truck in park as the little way finder woman says “You’ve Arrived.”
We’ve arrived?
It’s a dark field of nothing.
No signs.
No public walkway.
No bathrooms.
“Where are we?” He asks, hesitant.
“You must’ve parked in the wrong place.” I mumble as I throw open my door and stumble down from his giant work truck. I leave it open so there’s some light on the ground.
“Wrong place for what?” He does the same, standing in front of his open door so he can see me. See me turn around in circles, looking for…
“Oh.” I say, glaring first at the cloudy night sky above, the lampless streets around us and the night ahead, defeated. “For that.” I point into the black void in front of us.
Really, Lord, couldn’t give me even just a sliver of moonlight right now?
Adam squints around as well. “Huh?”
I suck in a breath and then ramble, embarrassment taking over my vocal cords. “Well, when I saw this one near our route I thought that’ll be fun! I gotta redeem myself and the teeny tiny Popeye stop, right? And the pictures made it look big but the…the pictures were all in daylight.”
“Pictures of what?”
“The world’s largest ball of twine.” I open my palm and make a display toward the field.
“Twine?” He says, his voice cracking a bit.
My head flicks to look over at him so fast I hurt myself. I will have to ice my neck tonight but I thought I heard… is he smiling?
In the dim light from the open door I can see he is.
He is smiling and wow. Wow.
He has a gorgeous smile. It’s transformative. I can hardly believe he’s the same person. His brows are raised, eyes open, perfect white teeth beneath full, soft lips that aren’t grimacing or smashed into a straight thin line.
He might be hotter right now than when he’s lifting big metal things on his giant shoulders.
Shoulders that are shaking.
“Wait.” I step further around the front of the truck to see him. “You’re laughing?”
At that he can’t hold in anymore and he lets it rip. A real, deep, earthy laugh that works its way up and out from down in his bones.
“This? This is funny?”
“It’s hysterical.” He sighs in between bellows. “Where is it, Suzie, huh?”
I grit my teeth at the nickname. “No one calls me that.”
“I mean maayyybe if I squint I can see something out there?”
“It is out there! It’s somewhere in that field!” Why am I yelling?
He rubs his face after a few seconds. His laughter finally calms so he can ask, “You wanna go look for it?” But he starts chuckling again. “I don’t have a magnifying glass handy but I got a flashlight for ya.”
“Okay, you know what? Screw it. And screw you!” I climb back into the cab and slam the door. “Last time I try to do something fun. Stupid jerk.” I mutter, words just anxiously flowing out of my mouth as my eyes start to sting. I lose track of them all, something about darkness and twine and smiles and shoulders.
“Are you crying? ” Adam asks, again with blatant disgust, as he climbs back in beside me.
“Why do you always ask me that, like that? People cry, it’s a normal thing! Especially when they’re being laughed at by an…asshole!” I yell, proud of myself. I don’t think I’ve ever called anyone that before. Felt good. Felt right.
“Geez, okay, I’m sorry.” He says, in the most unsorry way.
“It’s okay, it was stupid. Let’s just go.”
He puts his hand on the gear lever and pauses. “C’mon. It was a little bit funny.”
“Fine.” I say, trying not to smile or to sniff. Could go either way. I’m embarrassed, and mad at myself that I’m so easily embarrassed.
After we’re a few minutes away from the offensive field where light is apparently absorbed like a black hole, he looks at me, then back and the road. Then he looks over again and decides to ask, “Is this, like, your thing, weird crap on the side of the road?”
“No,” I say, way too defensive. I don’t look in his direction as I explain, happy he can’t see how badly I’m still blushing in the darkness. “I was trying to make our trip together more, I don’t know, more fun? So we would have something to see, talk about.” I hold up the papers in my lap and add, “Aside from my offensive printed list of questions, that is.”
He shakes his head and asks softly, disbelieving, “Why?”
“Why? Why not? So it’s easier to get to know each other? To try to become friends somehow? To make this whole forced-marriage-business-partnership-fake-dating thing more normal and less…less awful?” I collapse on the last word, relieved to finally talk about the elephant in the room. As I give up and slump back, he tenses up, turning to stone around the wheel. Clearly, I’ve said too much. “Sorry, I just meant—”
“No, you’re right. This is awful. You don’t want this, I sure as hell don’t want this, and I don’t think you knowing my favorite movie or me seeing some stupid yarn ball on the side of the road is going to help.”
At that he throws the truck in park, twists the key and gets out. I didn’t even realize where we were. We’ve pulled into one of the gas stations we passed, bright and loud, a glaring contrast to our last stop. I sit for a second, mouth hanging open. A million questions run through my brain.
Then what will help?
Don’t you want to at least try?
Why are you so angry about this?
I hurry out of the truck to make quick use of the bathroom so we don’t have to stop again, my mind racing along with my movements.
Is it my family? Or marrying young? Or marrying me?
Are you in love with someone else?
As I jog to the door I try to imagine my future fiancé in love. I can’t really see Adam doting on some girl.
Him, though, with his rugged features, pensive stare, incredible body and the radiating warmth of his face when he actually smiles…I could see a girl doting on him. I could see a girl fighting for that smile. Making it her personal mission to see him ignite like a fire, rare and mysterious and captivating.
I can definitely see that.
I get done and hustle back, getting myself situated in the truck while he pumps gas. I assume my pretend to be asleep position before he gets in and don’t plan to utter another word the rest of the trip.
All the questions that keep piling up in my chest, I’ll unload them eventually. I know I will. Not only because of the pressure behind my sternum but because I know It’s better to facilitate communication, to get things out in the open.
I’ll keep working on becoming his friend so he’ll be honest, then I’ll ask him. Soon. The real question is, will I be able to handle his answers?