Chapter Six
By the time we pulled off the Trans-Canada, the sun had sunk behind the mountain peaks, bleeding streaks of copper and rose across the red roofs. The crisp evening air swept through my slightly cracked-open window, carrying the scent of pine and freshness. Oh how I adored that scent.
“Next stop: civilization,” Tristan announced, pulling into a parking spot beside a brown and white wooden sign that read ‘Three Valley Gap Ghost Town’.
I laughed. “Civilization is a strong word for a place offering ghost town tours.”
He shrugged, cutting the engine. “Hey, this is a rite of passage. Everyone who’s driven the Trans-Canada has stopped here at least once.”
I arched a brow. “You say that like it’s something to brag about.”
“Not bragging,” he said, unbuckling. “Just establishing cultural literacy, and there’s a lot of Pioneer history in that town.”
“Of course.” I reached for my purse and Mr. Moose. “Lead on, Professor Culture.”
He walked to the back of the van and unloaded two cases of wine onto the dolly while I glanced around the deserted space. There were a few cars parked, but no visitors as far as I could tell. It really was a ghost town.
The small bell over the shop door jingled as we rolled inside, releasing a gust of warm, dusty air.
Inside, the gift shop was every road-tripper’s fever dream: rows of maple syrup, gold rush bags of candy, and a wall of T-shirts that all screamed I Got Lost in the Rockies.
After snapping pictures with our mascot, I trailed my fingers along a rack of postcards toward the bathroom while Tristan detoured toward the small, refrigerated section.
The place smelled like cinnamon potpourri, old wood, and something sweet.
Rows of cluttered shelves overflowed with snow globes, plastic moose, mugs that said ‘Eh?’, and more keychains than any reasonable person could ever own.
While Tristan made his delivery, I visited the ladies’ room and freshened up a little. I also checked my phone to see if there was any word from the kids. My notifications were painfully absent. Hopefully, they were having a good time being mom-free.
Feeling a bit refreshed, I met up with Tristan whose hands were packed with the kind of road fare a child would relish.
“Ah. The holy grail.” Tristan’s hand brushed my shoulder lightly as he gestured toward a wooden barrel near the counter.
My gaze travelled downward to the handwritten sign: MYSTERY BAGS – $10. CONTENTS UNKNOWN. brAVE SOULS ONLY.
“Oh, no,” I said immediately. “We’re not doing that.”
“Oh, yes, we are,” he countered, already grabbing one as he balanced the other items like a pro.
Mr. Moose’s head poked out from my armpit as I crossed my arms. “You realize that’s how horror movies start, right? Two idiots open cursed bags in a ghost town.”
He grinned, the dimple in his chin flashing like a dare. “Then we’ll die laughing.”
I took one just to shut him up, the blue question marked wrapped paper crinkling in my hand. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Big word,” he teased. “You learn that in nurse school?”
“You mean university? Yes.” I gave him a flat look.
“Touché.”
Putting my fuzzy mascot beside the display, because it was wild and crazy enough to amuse me later, I snapped a quick photo and paid for our two mystery bags after he paid for the snacks and refreshments. “You’re going to owe me if this contains glitter.”
He walked to the van with a confidence I admired. And envied.
Opening my door, he gestured. “Hop in. There’s a perfect spot on the other edge of the lake to sit and catch our breaths.”
“Catch our breaths? We’ve been driving all day.”
“Trust me.”
“You and viewpoints.” I gave my head a shake but a smile brewed on my lips.
His eyebrow shot sky high. “Have I steered you wrong yet?”
“Not so far.”
We took our spoils to a picnic bench overlooking the lake saddled between rocky-edged mountains with flecks of green and gold trees.
White fluffy clouds dotted the sky. The water was still enough to hold the reflection of the red roofs from the Three Valley Gap Chateau.
It was postcard-perfect, if you ignored the mosquitoes.
“So?” A bemused grin settled over his face.
The last of the daylight glowed off the lake, the reflection so still it looked painted. I hope it looked as amazing in the photograph I took.
“Nice.”
“Nice, she says.” He shook his head and sat on the low wooden bench.
The bench had a questionable stain so if I wanted to sit, I had no choice but to snuggle right next to Tristan.
Feeling the flutters of an adolescence crush that never fully disappeared, I sat beside him trying to be as nonchalant as humanly possible.
Our knees brushed once, then twice ... Accidentally.
Probably. I told myself I didn’t notice, and I tried to pretend it didn’t affect me, but my heart betrayed me with its ramped-up speed.
It would be so easy to fall into this. Too easy. But easy was how mistakes started.
I took a long breath and shook away the embers of something unfamiliar and longing.
“All right,” he said, holding up the two mystery bags. “Moment of truth.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Feeling my bag, I tried to guess what was inside but came up empty. I tore into mine first. “Okay, I’ve got... socks. Neon green. With... is that a moose or a llama?” I held them up; the animal’s face was warped beyond recognition. “Either way, majestic.”
Tristan burst out laughing. “That’s incredible.”
“Incredibly tragic.” I held up the socks. “I could use these to flag down aircraft.”
“Don’t knock high visibility footwear. Safety first.” His boots tapped against mine.
Digging further, I pulled out a hard plastic toy. “And—oh my gosh, a kazoo.” I blew into it, producing the world’s most tragic honk. “Wow. I feel cooler already.”
“Clearly,” he deadpanned. “Your kids must be so proud.”
Nothing of interest, aside from plastic-wrapped hard candies, was left in the bag. “What’s in yours, Captain Cool?”
He opened his bag with an irritatingly confident ease that suggested he’d somehow even win at a game of random luck.
Frowning, he pulled out a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper.
Inside were three rubber bracelets in day-glow green, pink, and orange, each stamped with glossy white letters: GOOD VIBES ONLY, STAY CHILL, and ZEN AF.
I nearly choked laughing. “Oh my God. The universe is screaming at you.”
His jaw ticked. “This is ridiculous. These packages have gone downhill. How is this even worth a buck, let alone the ten-dollar steal of a deal?”
“It’s poetic,” I said, snorting and pointing to his new jewelry. “A man who probably schedules his coffee breaks getting told to stay chill.”
He rolled one between his fingers, unimpressed. “You know what these are? The participation ribbons of adulthood.”
“You say that now,” I teased, “but I bet by tomorrow, you’ll be wearing one.”
He held one up like it was radioactive. “Over my dead body.” His brow lifted. “And why do you think I schedule my coffee breaks?”
“You tell me, Mr. Control-the-Playlist, Control-the-Route, Control-the-Snack-Stops.”
“Someone’s got a schedule to keep,” he interrupted, half defensive, half playful. But there was an edge to his grin now, a tightness I hadn’t seen before.
I tilted my head, studying him. “You always like running the show?”
He hesitated, gaze dropping to the bracelets in his palm. “Only when the show keeps trying to run off the rails.”
The air between us thickened in a way only control freaks could understand.
I gently pushed against his arm with mine. “What else you got in there?”
He pulled out another item, a small metallic compass, and turned it over in his hand. The look that crossed his face wasn’t amusement this time; it was something quieter. “Trade you for the kazoo?”
I pretended to think. “Tempting. But no. The kazoo speaks to my soul.” I placed my hand over my heart.
He laughed real and unrestrained, hard enough to make his shoulders shake. “You’d drive people crazy with that thing.”
“Good,” I said, putting my items beside Mr. Moose on the far side of the bench. “It’s what I was born to do.”
“But having a compass in your back pocket never hurt either.” He shoulder-checked me.
My instinct was to lean in.
My history told me to step back.
Men leave. Security doesn’t.
“How’s that?” I leaned back, crossing my legs.
“Then you’ll be able to find your way.”
The laughter quieted between us. The light was low enough now that his eyes had gone darker, softer somehow, and yet the air was much heavier.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I said lightly, trying to deflect.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re cataloguing me for quality assurance.”
A hint of smile started, paused and retreated, but he didn’t look away. “Old habits die hard.”
I didn’t ask what he meant. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You still haven’t answered my question. Do you want me to drop you off at the airport, or spend the night at my winery?”
The tone in his voice was hard to read, and I really didn’t know how to answer.
No.
No slipping.
No softening.
Home isn’t here. Home is Joshua’s half-burnt grilled cheese attempts and Allie’s music at 2 a.m.
The air was cooling fast, sharp with pine and the faint sweetness of the gift shop’s fudge. I glanced toward the lake, pretending to watch the leaves dance on the edge of the breeze but what I really saw in my imagination was the two of us, closer than we had any right to be.
Deflection and avoidance were my best friends, and I held tight to them now.
I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. Not my kids who’d have to come and pick me up early from the airport and change their plans in the process.
And I didn’t want Tristan to go out of his way to put me up in his place and need to drive me back to the airport, taking time out of his busy schedule.
I stood abruptly, crumpling the mystery bag in my hand after stashing my treasures into my purse. “We should go. Long drive ahead.”
It was an answer, all be it vague. What was it I really wanted?
He nodded, slow, like he’d felt it too. “Right. Wouldn’t want to lose control of the schedule.”
I caught the teasing note but heard the truth beneath it; it was the one thing he wasn’t laughing about.
As we headed to the van, I glanced over my shoulder. Tristan was pocketing the compass like it mattered.
And maybe it did. Maybe we were both lost.
Behind us, the van door slammed shut.
“So,” he said quietly, voice too steady to be casual, “winery... or airport?”
My heart thudded once.
I opened my mouth to answer. And lied. “Airport.”