Chapter 13
Opinion: A bad idea will never turn into a good one, no matter how much you drink.
—Delilah Dune, opinion writer
G oing with Travis back to his place was probably a bad idea. Not that she didn’t trust him. Even after all these years, she trusted him with her life.
“That’s a cute tattoo on your left ankle,” he said as he opened his truck door for her. “Is that a butterfly?”
Lyla glanced toward her foot, admiring the dark black ink on her skin. “A firefly, actually. My ex hated it. He said tattoos were stupid.”
Travis waited for her to step inside the truck. Then he held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” He shut the truck door behind her and jogged around to the driver’s side, sliding behind the steering wheel. A woodsy scent wafted into the truck along with him, awakening Lyla’s senses. “The Lyla I knew would never have settled for a guy who called anything about her stupid.” He placed the key in the ignition, turned, and the engine rolled, sputtering for a moment.
Lyla pulled her seatbelt across her body and buckled. “Joe, my ex, had a way of criticizing something and then love bombing with compliments afterwards. It was a constant head game with him.”
Travis backed the truck out of her driveway. “Why’d you date someone like him to begin with?”
She’d asked herself that very question a lot lately. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. That’s not an opinion, it’s fact. We dated for the usual reasons, I guess.” She glanced across the middle console. “At first, everything was perfect between us. Isn’t that how relationships always start before they fall apart?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.” Travis’s lips tilted in a slight frown. “I am the last person to know anything about relationships. I stay as far from those as possible. But I’m sorry someone treated you like that, Ly.”
She studied his side profile as he drove. It was no longer soft and rounded like it had once been. “I honestly think keeping your heart to yourself is even sadder than having it broken.”
“Maybe so. All I know is, you deserved better. You deserve better, Ly.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap, noticing that they were shaking. She was shaking.
“Why a firefly?” he asked, returning the focus to the tattoo. “Why not a dragonfly or a butterfly?”
The connection of her tattoo and seeing the daytime fireflies since returning to Echo Cove gobsmacked her, making her speechless for a moment. Were her tattoo and the little daytime fireflies she’d been seeing somehow related? “I was in college and I felt lost in a way. I was so sure when I moved away from Echo Cove that I would find myself, but all I found were shallow friendships, parties, and a boyfriend who made me hate myself some days.”
“ Hate ? Strong word,” he said as he steered the truck.
She felt a sense of shame admitting it, but it was true. “So I went to a tattoo shop one night, slightly intoxicated, and my roommate started looking up the meanings of different tattoos. Apparently, fireflies symbolize illumination of one’s self. That’s exactly what I wanted, so I said yes, and I put it on one of the most painful spots I could think of.” She laughed a little. “I mean, I’m sure there are more painful spots, but of the places I was willing to ink, the ankle was pretty rough.”
“Self-illumination,” Travis repeated.
“And guidance and inspiration. All those things sounded good to me. I needed it all.”
“You could have reached out to me,” Travis said quietly. He didn’t wait for her to respond. “But personally, I like the firefly tattoo.”
“Yeah?”
His grin stretched for maximal dimple depth. “I have a tattoo.”
Lyla’s eyes roamed the bare skin of his body. “Where?”
Waggling his eyebrows, he shook his head. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She shoved a playful hand against his shoulder. “Actually, no. I don’t think I would.” As her laughter died, her stomach growled loudly. How embarrassing.
Travis’s gaze jumped from the road to her midsection, confirming that he’d heard the monstrous sound. “Hungry much?” he asked before refocusing on the road.
“I guess nightmares take a lot of energy.”
“All that tossing, turning, and wrestling your personal demons in your sleep.” He pulled up to a STOP sign. “Good thing I have dinner simmering in a Crock-Pot at my place.”
“A Crock-Pot?” Lyla asked in disbelief. Crock-Pots were something that her mom and grandma had used when she was growing up. They weren’t for single, attractive men. “Is this a prank?”
Travis seemed amused by her reaction. “We’re adults now, Ly. Crock-Pots are sexy.”
Lyla appreciated that he had cooked dinner. “What are you cooking?”
“Steak, rice, and peppers simmering in a savory beef bone broth.” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “Chef’s kiss.”
“I must say, I am impressed.” Lyla meant it. “You’ve grown into a responsible adult.”
Travis chuckled quietly. “I read ‘Delilah’s Delusions.’ I happen to know that your opinion on Crock-Pots is that they are equal parts lazy and genius.”
He was referencing an article from the column’s first year in publication. It hadn’t garnered too many reader responses, and Bob had forbidden her to write anything remotely domestic again—unless it was sexy domestic, he’d said. “I still stand by that opinion. You can create an entire meal with only fifteen minutes of prep. It’s lazy, but also genius, because look at all the time saved. What you do with that time seals the deal on whether the meal is lazy or genius,” she explained.
Travis slowed his truck and turned down a gravel road, turning the ride from smooth to bumpy. Lyla reached for the handle on the truck’s ceiling and held on as she glanced around curiously. This was the lot that his parents’ double-wide trailer used to sit on, but now the land was empty except for a small RV parked on the grassy waterfront.
“That’s yours?” she asked.
“Mm-hmm.” He gave her a long look, something hesitant about the way he pressed his lips together, as if holding in a thought. Or confession. “Her name is Delilah.”
Everything inside Lyla went still. “You named your RV after me? You’re kidding.”
He shrugged. “You were my best friend, and our adventures were legendary in my mind. When I got this RV, I hoped the same would be true for us. Me and Delilah number two.”
Lyla opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out for a few seconds. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Naming my RV after you is a compliment.” He parked his truck in front of the RV and pushed open his driver’s side door. He didn’t step out just yet though. “For the record, my opinion is that the time saved with Crock-Pot cooking is never lazy, even if the chef just steps out onto their back porch and watches the sky. Spending life the way you choose is always genius.” He stepped out and closed the truck door behind him, leaving Lyla sitting there speechless for a long moment. In her profession, she was always being served up others’ opinions, but they usually weren’t so deep and thoughtful. Most readers offered a knee-jerk opinion that they were ready to defend, tooth and nail. That’s why the “Delilah’s Delusions” column was so popular.
Lyla pushed her passenger door open and stepped out as well, meeting him around the front of the RV. “Have you become a philosopher since our senior year?”
“It comes with all the sitting I do while watching the sky.” He turned toward his RV. “Lyla, meet Delilah.”
It was an older model RV, but Lyla could tell that Travis took very good care of it. The mobile home was a soft cream color with wide horizontal baby blue stripes. “Hello, Delilah.” She felt a bit silly talking to a vehicle.
Travis climbed a set of three metal steps and then opened the camper’s door. He stepped in and offered his hand to help her up. She didn’t need help, but letting him take her hand felt nice. That was one of the gestures her ex had stopped doing along the way, in addition to many others—too many to count. She’d written an article about that too.
Opinion: Time to buy lingerie, stat, once the hand-holding and kissing fades.
The lingerie bit was just clickbait, attracting interest by mentioning something sexy. She hadn’t purchased lingerie once the hand-holding and kissing had stopped with Joe, though. In her mind, a relationship didn’t need those things to survive. It needed time and nurturing, and date nights to places that weren’t grocery stores. Joe had considered a trip to Harris Teeter to buy steaks a date. She didn’t even like steaks.
Struggling relationships maybe even needed couples counseling. When she’d suggested that to Joe, he’d laughed her out of the room. The country loved her opinion, but her boyfriend found it amusing at best.
Travis let go of her hand and gestured around the main entrance of his RV. “These are my living quarters. As you can see, I have a couch. A TV. A coffee table.” He led her toward a small kitchen. “A stove. Fridge. Sink.” He gestured for her to step ahead of him. “The hall is pretty narrow. Be my guest. The bathroom and bedroom are down there. I’ll stay here to give you space. Just make sure your Oohs and Ahs are loud enough for me to appreciate.”
Lyla grinned over at him, intrigued by the pride radiating off him right now. Then she headed down the hall, taking her time to note the detail. “Is this your work?” She pointed to the paneled walls and crown molding.
“It is. Not many RVs have crown molding. Or a Jacuzzi bathtub,” he said.
“You have a Jacuzzi tub?” She peeked into the bathroom, and sure enough, he had a fancy tub that put the one in her parents’ home to shame. “Wow. This is amazing, Trav.” She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror and stopped to fix a few out-of-place hairs. Then she entered the bedroom and stopped to take it all in.
It was a man’s bedroom, for sure. The bedspread was designed with dark greens, browns, and blacks. The walls were wood paneled, just like the front room. He had a small TV mounted to the wall and a couple framed pictures hanging, as well. She stepped over to inspect them closer. They were nature shots. A waterfall. A view from what appeared to be a mountain peak. She guessed that Travis had taken these photographs himself.
“I can’t hear you back there,” he called down the hall.
A laugh tumbled off her lips. “Ooh. Ah,” she said as she headed back toward the kitchen where Travis was waiting for her, hands propped on his hips.
He suppressed a sheepish grin and looked away. Lyla thought maybe Travis’s obvious pride in his RV made him feel vulnerable. She understood that feeling. It was the same feeling she got when someone was reading her writing. It felt like one critical word could break her. That’s how it felt with her fiction writing, at least. She’d grown a thicker skin for her opinion articles. The fiction felt more intimate, whereas the column wasn’t always her honest opinions. Sometimes she just wrote to create controversy, because that’s what her editor wanted.
Maybe that was one of her problems. She hadn’t written any fiction since her failed attempt at eighteen. Fiction didn’t pay the bills, but it did nurture that creative part of her that seemed to be starving lately.
“She’s just an RV, I know that, but I’ve invested a lot of time and effort in Delilah, here,” Travis said.
“You really did name this place Delilah?” she asked.
“I hope you’re not insulted.”
“Of course not. She’s beautiful.” Lyla glanced around, noticing all the little details. Travis had poured his soul into this home.
When she met his gaze again, he nodded. “Yes, she is.”
She was only imagining the way Travis was looking at her, right? Her and her big imagination. It always led her mind down paths that weren’t entirely based in reality, like the time she could have sworn Joe was about to propose. Instead, he’d just been hiding the fact he was seeing someone else behind her back. What a mistake dating Joe had been.
Pushing away her thoughts of the past, she said, “It smells delicious in here.” Focusing on the present moment was always the better idea. This present moment was quiet, and it smelled intoxicatingly wonderful, a combination of Travis’ woodsy scent and rosemary and basil from the stew that was cooking. This present moment also included one of her favorite people in the whole world. How had she shut Travis Painter out of her life? That was maybe her biggest mistake—and her biggest regret.
He grabbed a wooden spoon and sidestepped to the Crock-Pot on the kitchen counter. “Well, the food is ready when you are.”
“You heard my stomach earlier. I’ve never turned down a home-cooked meal, and I won’t start tonight.”
“Except for that brief time when you decided you were vegetarian,” Travis reminded her. “You turned down a lot of good food during that time.”
Lyla pressed a palm to her forehead. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Of course, I do. I ate nothing but meat that entire week to help change your mind.”
She shook her head and turned to lean her back against his kitchen counter. “Why am I not surprised? Of course, you would do that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking mildly concerned.
“Nothing. You always loved to press my buttons. Not just mine, but everyone’s.”
He blew out a heavy breath. “Is that why no one threw me a goodbye party when I moved away?” He was teasing, but there was something sad in his expression. Lyla remembered that Travis was sometimes sensitive about his reputation for mischief, especially when folks pointed out that he was a preacher’s son. People expected him to be an angel, and he was often the opposite. His sister Bailey had played the good girl role, until she’d gotten pregnant and been branded by her own father and church with an invisible scarlet letter.
“Trouble with a capital T,” Travis quipped. “That’s what people used to say about me.” He lifted the lid off the Crock-Pot and pulled the two bowls that were already laid out closer. After dispensing their servings, he carried the bowls to a tiny rectangular shaped dining room table that folded out of the camper’s wall. “What would you like to drink? Sweet tea?”
She tilted her head, feeling the flirtiness in her micromovements. She couldn’t seem to help herself. “Did you make it yourself?”
“It’s instant,” he admitted. “But I did stir it myself. Are you still impressed with me?”
Lyla sat down at the little table in his RV. “Very much. I’d love some sweet tea.”
Opinion: If your Southern host doesn’t serve sweet tea, they aren’t hospitable. If they do, they’re hoping you’ll stay a while.