Chapter 17 #2
“You’re late, Novak,” he said. “I was thirty seconds away from driving off and leaving you to walk home.”
“Would be hard for me to walk all the way to Carling Beach.” I chucked my duffel bag over the shoulder of my seat. It landed with a soft thump in the back. Rhys shifted the car into drive, smoothly pulling out of the studio lot and onto the main road.
“How are your legs?” he asked, glancing over at me briefly.
“Separated from my body,” I murmured, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back against the headrest. “If you ask me to walk more than five feet tonight, I will collapse.”
“Good thing the cottage has a porch,” he said quietly. “You can sit in a chair and stare at the lake like an eighty-year-old woman.” His eyes darted to my shin covered in the pale pink tights. “And the cut on your leg?”
I flexed my foot instinctively, kicking my leg up a little higher as if I could examine it through the tights. “Fine, actually. Finally healing. I don’t need a bandage on it anymore.”
“I thought you were going to say you were suffering and couldn’t walk anywhere and force me to carry you everywhere.”
“Oh, yes, I am suffering and cannot walk anywhere, but I don’t expect you to carry me anywhere. You’d probably carry me straight to the dock and dump me in the water.”
He huffed a laugh that had my heartbeat kick up.
“Ainsley, I’d carry you anywhere you wanted to go.
” My face heated with a warm blush, but I ducked my head to hide it and started pulling bobby pins out of my hair, dropping them into the cup holder to keep them together.
I couldn’t help but sigh in relief as my hair came out of the tight bun, falling in waves around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry for making you leave so late,” I said in an effort to change the topic—and to stop the memories of Rhys hooking his arm under my knees on Sunday and lifting me effortlessly into the house. “If it wasn’t for me, you could have left right after school and been there by now.”
“I didn’t want to go up right away anyway,” he said, his voice low and dismissive, as if the sacrifice was as insignificant as passing him a napkin.
“Plus if we had, Landon definitely would have asked for a ride instead of going up with his family and you two would have had to do a thumb war for shotgun, so this worked out for everyone.”
“Well, obviously I would have gotten it. I’m your girlfriend.”
I froze right after the words left my mouth, realizing that it sounded like I was saying I was actually his girlfriend. There was nobody around to be pretending for, and yet, the words had come to me as easily as breathing. Why had I done that?
Luckily, Rhys didn’t seem to notice. “Trust me, we’re still better off just the two of us.”
My heart gave an awkward, uninvited thud against my ribs. Just the two of us. A two-hour drive up Highway 400, completely alone.
“You look like you’re going to faint, Ainsley,” Rhys snorted. “Are you that terrified of my driving, or are you just overwhelmed by my presence?”
“Well, your driving is a legitimate public safety hazard,” I shot back, adjusting my seatbelt as it dug into my collarbone.”And I’m not scared. I just don’t know what happens when Landon isn’t around to mediate. We’d probably be at each other’s throats within an hour.”
“Please. You love me.” He reached over and hit a button on the dash. “Now connect your phone and pick something good. If you play indie folk that sounds like someone crying in a forest, I’m pulling over and leaving you at a Tim Hortons.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my mouth as I fished my charger cord out of my tote bag.
Within twenty minutes, we had left the suburban sprawl behind and merged onto the highway, joining a massive, crawling exodus of cars, trailers, and boats headed north. The cities were shedding their skin for the weekend, dumping thousands of restless teenagers and vacationers onto the roads.
“We should probably recap,” I said, staring out at the passing trees.
Rhys let out a scoff. “Recap what? How to light a campfire?”
“No, Rhys,” I said, turning to look at him, keeping my voice stern despite the heat rising in my cheeks. “The rules. We haven’t reviewed the ground rules since the first night, and we’re about to spend three days in a cottage with your whole family.”
Rhys rolled his eyes, though the amusement was clear in the slight curve of his mouth. “All right, fine. Go ahead, Professor Novak. Lay down the law.”
I held up my hand, ticking off my fingers one by one.
“Rule number one,” I stated firmly. “No public displays of affection unless there is an audience. Which means no fake hand-holding, no fake arm-wrapping, and definitely no fake...” I caught myself, the word sticking in my throat.
“...no fake kissing?” Rhys finished smoothly, his voice dropping an octave, rich and dry.
My cheeks burned hotter. “Exactly. No kissing.”
“Got it,” Rhys murmured, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, though I saw the quick, subtle flash of his white teeth as he bit down on his lower lip to hide a smirk. “Strictly professional boundaries when we’re alone. What else?”
“Rule number two,” I continued, clearing my throat to regain control of my authority. “The cover story—if anyone calls me, you do not exist. I am at Clementine’s cottage ten minutes down the road, eating junk food and watching reality TV and tanning.”
“Don’t see how that affects me, but agreed.”
“It affects you,” I said, poking him in his very hard bicep, “because I need you to not announce your presence when I’m on the phone. No yelling anything in the background.”
“When have I ever done that?”
“I’m planning for possible contingencies.”
“You need to stop overthinking. It’s the long weekend, Ainsley. Learn to relax.”
“I’m not overthinking,” I lied, leaning my head back against the headrest and stretching my legs out toward the dashboard. “I’m just worried how I’m going to survive three days in a house with Kelcey without punching her.”
Rhys let out a low laugh that sent a tiny shiver down my spine. “That, I can understand. But don’t worry—your job is just to sit there, look pretty, and act like you actually enjoy my company.”
“That’s going to require an Oscar-worthy performance.”
“Ouch,” he said, though the grin on his face said he didn’t care at all. He reached over, his long fingers lightly tapping the side of my knee before returning to the steering wheel. The brief touch left my skin burning. “You’re a terrible fake girlfriend.”
“You get what you pay for, Montgomery.”
I looked out the window, watching the green pine trees start to cluster thicker along the side of the highway.
The granite rock faces—the Canadian Shield—were beginning to erupt out of the dirt, jagged and gray against the bright moss.
I’d never seen anything like it before I moved here.
The air was filled with the strange mix of the scent of pine and exhaust fumes.
“I’m starving,” Rhys announced an hour and a half later. “And I need gas before we get off the main strip. We’re stopping.”
He yanked the wheel, pulling us into a sprawling, sun-bleached gas station that was practically overflowing with cottagers. Pick-up trucks hauling Jet Skis, station wagons loaded with canoes, and SUVs packed with teenagers were idling everywhere.
Rhys pulled up to an open pump, killed the engine, and swung his long legs out of the truck. The sudden silence when the engine died felt heavy and thick, filled only with the hum of the highway and the classic rock blasting from a nearby boat trailer.
I stepped out as well, my sandals slapping against the hot asphalt. It had cooled down significantly since we started driving and I was suddenly very grateful for my sweater.
“Go inside and get whatever you want,” Rhys said, flipping open his fuel cap and grabbing the gas nozzle. He tossed his wallet toward me, and I caught it effortlessly against my chest. “Get me a Gatorade. Blue one.”
“I’m paying for my own snacks,” I said, trying to hand it back.
Rhys raised an eyebrow, his hands busy with the pump. “Ainsley, take the card. Or I’ll buy five bags of those weird dill pickle chips you hate and force you to eat them.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
I glared at him, but my lips twitched. I turned and walked toward the air-conditioned bliss of the gas station store, my flip-flops squeaking slightly on the pavement.
Inside, the store was chaotic and alive with summer energy.
Groups of teenagers in swim trunks and cover-ups were crowding around the slushie machines, giggling and snapping photos, while dads in faded polo shirts argued over bags of ice.
Everyone who had left town at the end of their school or work day ready to get back to lake season.
I walked down the snack aisle, grabbing a bag of salt and vinegar chips, a couple of chocolate bars, and two cold bottles of blue Gatorade from the glass fridge at the back.
When I walked back out into the dazzling sunlight, Rhys was leaning against the bed of his SUV, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the crowds.
He had taken off his sunglasses and tucked them into the collar of his T-shirt. With the harsh lights of the gas station catching the sharp line of his jaw and the messy hair falling into his eyes, he looked so unfairly, effortlessly attractive that it made it hard to breathe.
“Took you long enough,” he said when I approached. He stepped forward to take the heavy plastic bag from my hands. “Did you have to fight someone for the last chocolate bar?”
“No, but I considered fighting the cashier when he tried to charge six dollars for a bag of chips,” I said, leaning back against the side of the car next to him. The metal was hot through my clothes. “Here’s your wallet.”
He took it, his fingers brushing against mine. Instead of pulling away immediately, his thumb brushed lightly over the back of my hand, a subtle, lingering movement that made my heart hammer wildly against my ribs.