Chapter 3 #2
I collect my purse from the car and clutch it like a lifeline.
Landon leads me to the truck and opens the door for me, waiting as I climb up into the passenger seat.
The seat is blanketed in a faded red-and-black checkered flannel blanket, covering the cracked vinyl peeking through.
The dashboard is cluttered with tiny figurines—a blue plastic dinosaur, a bobblehead moose, a waving cat from a sushi restaurant.
The air smells of pine needles and gasoline.
Landon closes the door and gets to work on my car.
As I wait I mentally go over my budget. My tiny budget that barely has enough for a fresh start.
Fixing my car is going to put a dent in that.
I don’t know how far I can make it on what I’ll have left.
I pull out my phone. My battery is quickly draining as I pull up my aunt’s contact information and send her a quick text.
Won’t be making it tonight. The car broke down and I’m getting it towed.
It’s only a couple minutes before her response comes in.
Are you safe?
I pull my knees up to my chest as I sit in the passenger seat.
The silence presses down like a weight, and I can’t help but glance at him through the windshield.
He’s focused, brow furrowed, muscles straining against his jacket as he works.
He’s handsome, in a rugged country boy kind of way.
Nothing like the guys I’ve known in the city.
Glittering snowflakes catch in his thick beard but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care.
Landon glances up and catches me staring. He winks before flashing a grin. My cheeks heat and I duck my head, not letting myself look again.
I occupy myself by typing a response to my aunt.
I’m fine. I’ll find a place to stay for the night and let you know how the car is in the morning.
Do you need any money for a hotel?
Even though it’s only a text I still burn with embarrassment. How have I lost my way so much that even as a grown ass woman my aunt feels the need to offer me cash?
I’m fine. I got this covered. Talk soon.
I just finish sending the message when the door swings open and Landon steps up into the truck. “Good to go. Sorry about the mess—I haven’t had a chance to clear things out since the last snowstorm.”
He checks his mirrors before pulling out onto the road. His hands are easy on the wheel as he steers us back in the direction I just came from.
“How long have you lived up here?” I ask, after several long minutes of awkward silence.
“Born and raised,” he says. “Left for a while, bounced around the country, but the pines have a way of pulling you back. Or so my mother claims.” He makes a turn and then looks at me. “What about you? You like living in a city?”
I shrug. “I guess. It’s all I’ve ever really known.”
“Never thought about trying a slower pace of life?”
“It’s crossed my mind from time to time. I think it does for most city folk. Every so often we get tired of the traffic or the hustle and bustle, and think about throwing in the towel. But then we remember that we wouldn’t be close to a Starbucks and that shuts things down pretty quick.”
Landon laughs. The sound is deep and rumbling.
I find myself leaning against the cool glass of the window, watching the snow swirl in flurries. The world outside feels like a distant memory; it seems almost unreal compared to the warmth that radiates from Landon’s presence beside me.
“Do you ever get tired of all this?” I ask, motioning vaguely at the towering pines hidden by the darkness and falling snow.
“Tired of epic views and fresh mountain air?”
I breathe a laugh. “I guess when you put it that way…”
He chuckles. “I thought I was tired of it when I was younger. Thought I’d find more away from this place.” He shrugs. “Guess you can see how that turned out for me.”
The truck clears the last bend and the town emerges, a huddle of yellow lights at the base of the next ridge.
The lights are warm and inviting, casting long shadows on the snow-dusted ground.
But as inviting as it looks, I hope I don’t have to stay here long.
There’s a knot in my stomach at the thought of being stuck in this town.
It’s small and isolated, and Brett knows I’m here.
Or does he? Brett likely thinks I’m on the run and halfway to somewhere new.
Maybe he’s already left too? The thought gives me a small flicker of hope, but I push it down.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last year, it’s that hope gets us to let our guard down. I can’t afford to do that.
Landon pulls into the gravel lot of the mechanic shop, a modest building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that reads “OPEN.” He parks and hops out.
I scramble out of the truck, my boot slipping on ice. I crash into him, my chest against his flannel coat. Our breath clouds between us, disappearing into the same air.
"I was coming to open your door," he says, snowflakes caught in his lashes, melting slowly.
"Oh—I—sorry…?" My fingers clutch wool, finding purchase. I try to step back but his hands steady me at the waist.
His thumb brushes across my nose, comes away wet with snow. "Never be sorry with me."
His eyes don't leave mine. The wind stops howling in my ears.
The gravel lot, the mechanic shop, the trucks—they blur at the edges.
My heartbeat drowns out everything but the heat of his hands through my coat.
Brett's face, his accusations, his slammed doors—they shrink smaller and smaller until they're pinpricks. As if every whisper of fear—dissolves under the intensity of this man. And that’s terrifying.