Chapter 3 #2
Back in the car to escape the cold, the sun blasts through the windshield, giving me far-too-early hot flashes. Yet it’s too cold to stand outside for long. Or maybe I’m just not used to North Carolina winter anymore. Years of traveling meant I could dodge any threats of frigid weather.
Walking is the most logical solution versus doing nothing but staring into the abyss.
The scent of my lukewarm eggnog latte tickles my nose, and I jump back to the present.
I take a sip anyway, praying the caffeine gods take pity and drop a Christmas miracle.
What feels like two hours, instead of twenty minutes, crawls by.
Charlotte, you got this. With a deep exhale, I brace myself for an impromptu hike.
A faint crunch breaks through the quiet.
I freeze, listening. Is someone coming? I snap my head up so fast I nearly spill what’s left of my latte all over my lap.
I scramble out of the car, already preparing my most pathetic stranded-motorist face, adding a quick jingle to my hair for style.
Otherwise, I could wait hours for another vehicle. This might be my only shot.
A truck appears around the bend. Red. Heavy-duty. The kind that actually belongs on roads like this, unlike my sad little rental, which the animals I swerved to miss are probably laughing at. Relief floods through me as it slows, pulling onto the shoulder behind my disaster of a morning.
“Oh, thank god,” I whisper to no one.
Standing in front of the car, I can only make out a silhouette of a woman sitting behind the wheel.
The vehicle’s engine cuts off and the door swings open.
The person steps out. Dark jeans, broken-in boots, a cognac leather bomber jacket.
A cream and burgundy flannel peeks out beneath it.
Their confident gait looks familiar, but I can’t register who it is.
Wait. No. The soft morning glow shifts and I see her face clearly.
The air escapes my lungs. Kezia?
She halts. “Charlotte?” She says my name, her faint southern accent confirming my reality.
Hair snug underneath a beanie and shadows hugging the lines of her rich copper complexion, I almost didn’t recognize her. I’m standing feet away from Kezia Langston.
“Kez?” The word croaks up my throat.
Heat flushes my cheeks as her gaze deliberately drags over me, head to toe.
I open my mouth to speak, but only air comes out.
She’s familiar in so many different ways.
Face bare of makeup with only a light glossy shine on her full lips.
Certainly more beautiful than I remember.
My heart hammers in my chest when she approaches.
I forgot what it feels like to be looked at like that.
An SUV zooms past, zapping us out of our staring contest. Her attention bounces from me to the rental car, then back to me.
“Are you hurt?” she asks.
I blink. “I—no.”
She’s inches away, close enough I catch the pale-yellow polish covering her fingernails instead of the white she used to wear. The faint scent of bergamot and sandalwood from her perfume is new but captures my attention.
The soft arch of her brow lifts as she studies my face. “You might be in shock. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
Shock? That’s an understatement. Certainly not from how the car got into the ditch. But from the fact that I thought I’d never see her again, and I still can’t catch my breath when she’s near.
I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” After circling the car, she turns to face me. “She’s pretty stuck.”
My brain scrambles for the one sentence I should say. Can you call a tow truck? Or, could I borrow your phone?
“Could you give me a ride?” The words fall from my lips before I stop them. Did I really just say that out loud? I clear my throat. “My place isn’t far from here. A ride would be greatly appreciated.”
“Uh yeah, of course. Wait. You live around here, now?” Time stops as her deep brown eyes hold mine.
I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth and nod slowly. “I bought a cabin.”
“Wow. Charlotte.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I can’t believe it’s you. You look—”
A high pitch bark breaks the moment. I turn my head to discover a dog launching from the truck, headed straight toward me.
“Ember, stop!” Kez lunges for the leash, but the corgi is already sniffing my ankle boot with intense concentration.
Appreciating the distraction, I kneel to scratch behind ears too large for her body. “Hi baby. You’re so sweet.”
“Sorry. She’s my—she’s training. It’s complicated. And temporary.”
The corgi, appearing not more than a few months old, licks my outstretched hand and flips onto her back for more rubs. “She’s the cutest thing.”
“More like a menace,” Kez mutters.
“I have some boxes if you have the space.”
Kez scoops up little Ember. “I do. Let me put her back.”
We work in silence, loading my things into the truck bed. She lifts the final box before I can reach for it and I catch myself gawking at her arms, the fabric tight against her biceps. I force my gaze away. Old habit.
Once the truck is loaded, she holds the passenger door open for me. Our eyes meet for a brief moment during the inevitable awkward smile exchange before I climb in.
Kez’s truck smells like maple syrup. The kind her family bought in bulk from Vermont.
The real stuff, she’d call it. Does she make another woman Belgian waffles while dancing in boy shorts and an oversized T-shirt?
Using tongs as a microphone on Sunday the way she did with me?
My chest tightens, a flush creeping up my neck, then I stare out the window. Why do I even care?
But my body never forgot. During late nights alone in every unfamiliar bed in a new city, I thought of her. The smell of her freshly showered skin. Her tongue lapping feverishly at my clit, cold granite counter against my bare ass while the playlist she made me hummed in the background.
Everything tastes better after sex. Her words teasing in my ear, breathy and commanding, my thighs still trembling from the night before. Especially you. Then her mouth trailed lower.
I thought I was overheating back in the car. My skin is on fire now. I squeeze my legs together and let out a slow breath. Are we there yet?
Kez slides into the driver’s seat. I buckle my seatbelt. The tires crunch over gravel as we pull onto the main road. Less than one hour until I get to the cabin and all will be better—minus the car in the ditch.
When she catches me staring for the third time, I fix my gaze on the scenic overlook. I can survive thirty miles in a vehicle that smells like every Sunday morning I tried to forget.
Who am I kidding? I should’ve asked for the tow truck.