Chapter Six #2
“Safe. The crew finished everything they were supposed to finish, and the lower road is open. I drove it both directions.”
Relief moved across her face before something more complicated replaced it.
“Then I guess we’ve officially run out of weather. Very inconsiderate of Montana.”
“Looks that way. We can file a complaint.”
“I’ll draft something strongly worded.”
I picked up her suitcase. “Let’s get your car ready before the sun softens the top layer and everything starts sliding off the roof at once.”
Caprice grabbed the snow-gear bag. “I’m helping.”
“I expected you to.”
Before we went outside, she traded her leather ankle boots for the waterproof resort pair she’d worn yesterday and pulled on gloves.
The Audi was still buried enough to need work. Snow covered the roof and windshield, and the storm had left a packed ridge along the lower driver’s side where the access lane had been cleared.
Caprice opened the rear hatch and pulled out her long-handled snow brush.
I looked at it.
She lifted one eyebrow. “I own winter equipment.”
“You live in Missoula.”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were impressed.”
“A little.”
“Good.”
We worked from opposite sides of the Audi. Caprice cleared the windows, mirrors, lights, and lower sections while I shoveled the packed ridge away from the tires and swept the heavier accumulation off the roof.
When she stretched the brush toward the middle, the tip stopped several inches short.
She adjusted her grip and tried again.
Still short.
I kept my face turned toward the other side of the roof.
“Lucky, if you laugh, you will spend the rest of this relationship apologizing.”
I looked over the Audi at her. “I wasn’t laughing. I was considering offering help.”
“That would be acceptable.”
I walked around and took the brush when she held it out.
“The roof is an architectural problem, not a personal failing. The vehicle was clearly designed without adequate consultation from short women.”
“I agree. I can write that down with the weather complaint.”
Caprice smiled. “See? This is why I’m coming back.”
The sentence was easy enough that for a second I kept brushing snow.
Then I looked at her.
She didn’t take it back or turn it into a joke. She simply picked up the smaller scraper and moved to the front windshield.
Something in me settled, not because she had used the word coming, but because she had used back like there was already someplace here to return to.
I cleared the rest of the roof, then checked the tires while Caprice started the Audi and let the engine warm. The pressure display came up normal. She had plenty of fuel, the washer fluid was full, and nothing under the vehicle had been damaged by the accumulation.
Caprice leaned against the open driver’s door while I finished.
“I know you know this, but I need to say it once anyway. I’m perfectly comfortable driving normal winter roads. I’m not going to decide halfway to Missoula that the Audi and I should explore an unplowed logging trail together, and if conditions change, I’ll stop somewhere sensible.”
“I know. I’m concerned because I care where you end up. That doesn’t mean I think you’ve forgotten how roads work.”
She studied me. “You’re doing a very good job of not turning concern into a lecture.”
Her expression softened.
“That distinction is one of the things I’m going to miss about you.”
We went back inside for the bags.
Bear became more interested with every trip toward the door. He followed the suitcase, returned for Caprice, followed the work bag, then came back and pressed his shoulder against her knees while she zipped her coat.
Caprice bent and rubbed his ears.
“I know. This is terrible. Someone is going to have to throw your rope after I leave, and unfortunately the man you live with has shown very little commitment to indulging you.”
“I throw the rope.”
“Not enough.”
Bear’s tail swept across the entry mat.
“You’ve formed an alliance,” I said.
“We have shared interests.”
“Mostly you.”
“That’s still an interest.”
She kissed the top of Bear’s head and stood.
I picked up the insulated tote I’d packed while she was changing her boots.
Caprice watched me carry it toward the door. “How much food is in there?”
“Enough for the drive. There’s water, coffee, fruit, nuts, and a sandwich.”
“A sandwich? I know how to buy lunch.”
“I know you do. You’ll be driving through lunch.”
She took the tote from me and opened it anyway.
Inside were the travel mug, two bottles of water, an apple, a pear, a small bag of nuts, and the sandwich I’d wrapped before breakfast.
Caprice looked at the contents, then at me.
“You made me lunch while I was packing.”
“I made a sandwich.”
“That is lunch. Thank you.”
Her voice had softened enough that I stopped looking for humor in the exchange.
“You’re welcome.”
She carried the tote herself when we went back outside.
Once everything was loaded, we stood behind the Audi with the hatch still open. Her suitcase was secured beside her work bag, with the canvas bag tucked between them. The resort gear would ride on top until she stopped at the lodge to return it.
Caprice rested one hand on the edge of the hatch but didn’t close it.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say here.”
“You don’t have to say the perfect thing.”
“I know. That is both comforting and deeply inconvenient.”
I waited.
She looked past me toward the rental cabin.
“When I got here, I had four days I was supposed to be away from work, and my entire plan was to spend them proving I could still be useful to people who had specifically been told to manage without me.”
“I remember the laptop.”
“You saw enough of it.”
“I also saw you close it.”
Caprice nodded. “I’m going back because I love my job. That hasn’t changed, and I don’t want it to.”
“I don’t want it to either.”
Her eyes met mine again.
“What has changed is that I don’t want to go back and disappear into it until I’ve earned the right to have a life again.
I don’t know exactly what the new version looks like yet.
Glenn and I haven’t worked out the authority structure.
I don’t know what my next production will require.
I don’t know how often I’ll have to be physically on set, and I’m not going to stand in your driveway and promise dates I haven’t checked. ”
“You don’t need to.”
“I need you to let me finish before you make this easy.”
I smiled slightly. “All right.”
Caprice took a breath.
“I can promise that when I get home, I’m going to call you.
I’m going to do the work that actually belongs to me, and I’m going to make other people keep the authority I give them instead of taking it back the second I get uncomfortable.
I’m not waiting until I’ve solved every scheduling problem that might possibly exist for the next six months before I see you again. ”
That was more than I had expected her to say.
She stepped closer.
“I have spent most of my adult life acting like I shouldn’t commit to anything unless I already know how I’m going to handle every possible outcome. I can’t do that with us, Lucky. I don’t know all the logistics yet.”
“You don’t need to know them today.”
“I know.” A small smile touched her mouth. “I’m starting to believe that.”
I put my hands at her waist.
“What I need from you isn’t a calendar. I want you back because you want to come back. I want the woman who loves her job, who can run a production from a dining table, who argues with fireplace instructions, and who still thinks she can negotiate with my dog.”
“I was making progress with Bear.”
“You were rewarding him.”
“That is an unnecessarily negative interpretation of relationship building.”
I laughed, and Caprice smiled with me before her expression became serious again.
“I want you too. Not because I’m on vacation. Not because the road closed. Not because you were here every time I needed something fixed.”
Her fingers slid beneath the edges of my jacket.
“I want this when my phone is ringing and your radio is going off and neither of us has spent the afternoon having sex in a shower.”
“That afternoon set a high standard.”