Chapter 38
Iwoke up before my alarm.
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of my bedroom, and for a moment I simply lay there, light peppering my face as I stared at the ceiling, trying to get a grasp on reality.
Trying to grasp everything that had occurred only eight hours ago.
Lindy Parker.
It still felt like a dream. Like something I must’ve made up in my head.
My favorite author. The woman whose books lined my shelves, dog-eared and spines cracked from excessive reading. The author who sparked my passion to write.
Jay’s mother.
I rolled onto my side and stared at my nightstand, where one of Lindy’s paperbacks lay face down.
I’d never once stopped to wonder who her son was.
And I certainly never would’ve guessed he was jogging through the trails of Big Bear with his dog, or knitting with women at a nursing home, or being a freaking dentist.
I exhaled slowly.
Breathe.
I checked my phone and groaned. It was already six-thirty. I had to meet him outside at seven o’clock. I had to somehow be professional, normal, and functional within thirty minutes.
I crawled out of bed, reluctantly showered, and got ready for the day. Then I packed a bag for two nights at a hotel, stuffing everything in rather untidily and topping it off with my toiletries—oh, and a few books.
Couldn’t leave without the books.
When I was done, I started toward the stairs and stopped just as I reached them. Nervous butterflies suddenly swarmed my stomach, and I scolded myself.
It’s just a CE conference. And it’s just Jay.
I took one last steadying breath and finally headed down the steps.
Just treat him like normal. It’s just Jay.
I stepped outside and Jay was already there, hefting his black suitcase into the cab of his truck. He wore jeans and a business casual button-down, his hair still slightly damp like he’d just showered. He glanced up when he heard the rattling of my suitcase wheels across the pavement.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I replied, adjusting my grip on the handle.
Jay reached for my bag before I could stop him. “I’ve got it.”
“Oh, thanks.”
As he lifted it into the back, I glanced toward the house, suddenly struck by a thought I hadn’t finished processing. “Is Luna going to be okay?”
Jay smiled, the first half-smirk of the morning. “Margaret from my knitting club already picked her up.”
I laughed softly. “Convenient to have a group of cute old ladies that adore you, huh?”
“Sometimes,” Jay admitted with a wink, and I snorted.
He closed the trunk and gestured toward the passenger side. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Ready.”
We climbed into the truck, doors shutting almost in unison.
Jay started the engine. His phone connected to the Bluetooth, and his Spanish playlist began playing quietly over the speakers.
“So what are the rules?” I asked just as he pulled out of the driveway and started down the road.
“Rules?” he asked, voice tinged with confusion.
I figured talking was better than letting awkward silence take over.
“Yeah, you know. Road trip rules. How long do you get to play your music, and how long do I get to play mine? Do we stop for snacks? Is beef jerky allowed in the car?”
Jay chuckled and shook his head.
“Beef jerky is most definitely banned.”
“Got it.”
“Snacks are okay as long as they’re easily vacuumable.”
I couldn’t help but smile at how easily he played along.
“Okay.”
“And as for the music,” he added, “I give you completely free rein.”
“Really? That’s a pretty big move, giving me all the power over the music.”
“Consider it a peace offering.”
I didn’t hesitate to press the media button and switch the Bluetooth to my phone.
“You asked for it.”
Rascal Flatts started playing over the speakers, and Jay’s brow furrowed.
“Country?”
“You already gave up the power. You can’t take it back.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t mind country. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“What were you expecting, huh?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack or something?”
I smacked his arm. “I’ll have you know that soundtrack is impeccable.”
He grinned, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
He looked as if he was about to say something else, but then we passed by my brother’s cabin.
It was impossible not to notice it, nestled between the tall pine trees. The shrubbery was overtaking the front porch. The roof sagged more than I remembered. One window was boarded up. And the place looked smaller somehow, like it had deteriorated even further over the last few weeks.
“What’s your brother going to do with it?” he asked quietly.
I let out a slow breath. “I don’t know yet. It probably needs to be torn completely down,” I said, surprised by the pang of sadness that hit my gut. “And rebuilt from the ground up.”
Jay nodded like that made sense.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I know you’d been working on it and had just gotten settled when you had to leave.”
I shook my head, eyes still on the cabin as it slipped farther behind us. “It’s okay. It was a dump anyway.”
He didn’t laugh. Obviously, he wasn’t buying my nonchalance.
“Still, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said, unsure what else to say.
I turned back to face the road again.
The truck picked up speed, and pine trees blurred past in my peripheral vision. Slowly, the cabin disappeared from view.
If there was one thing I’d learned from that little cabin, it was that some things weren’t meant to be salvaged.
Even when it’s difficult and hard to let go of.
Sometimes the best thing to do is to break it all down.
And just start over again.