Chapter 11 #3
I scoff. “No.” I flick my hair, and he opens the back hatch, guiding the dress inside. He shuts the trunk, and as we settle into the car, I ask, “Where are you going to get coffee? It’s not like there’s a drive-thru Starbucks around here.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “I think we have to stop back at the Pickle Palace.” I tighten my lips, and his grin spreads. “And maybe I’ll ask for a side of pickle juice this time.”
“Alex,” I groan, shoving him, and he laughs, green and amber sparkling in his irises. He holds my gaze a beat, then shifts the car in reverse.
We head down the single road, back to the café. The lot is just as deserted as it was a few hours ago.
He clears his throat as he parks. “You want to grab dinner before we head back?”
I can’t help but wonder if he’s just as reluctant to end this trip as I am. I thought it might be awkward, but it’s been the complete opposite. Comfortable. Easy. Fun.
A lot of fun.
I nod, and when we enter the restaurant, the waitress from earlier recognizes us and omits the basket of pickles.
We eat quickly, and Alex gets a coffee to go for the road, sans pickle juice. I snuggle into the passenger seat, still wrapped in his plush sweater, and he inserts the key into the ignition. Except when he turns it, the engine makes a chugging sound but doesn’t start.
He tenses, pulling the key out and reinserting it, but no matter how many times he attempts to start the car, it just won’t budge. The check engine light illuminates with a ping.
“Shit.” Alex lowers his head against the wheel, exhaling a defeated breath.
The charm of this small town has officially evaporated.
“Is it the battery?” I ask, trying to be helpful. It’s always the battery.
“No, the electronics are all working. It’s something bigger.”
Bigger?
“How?” I lean forward, examining the dash icons, looking for some kind of clue. “It was just working thirty minutes ago.”
He tilts his head, and I shrivel in the seat. Of course he knows it was working. He was here, too.
“Can you call Triple A and have it towed?”
“Yeah.” He steps out of the car and digs a card out of his wallet, then dials the number.
I watch intently but can’t hear much. When he goes from bracing his hand on the roof of the car to burying his face in the crook of his arm, I know it’s not going well.
To his credit, he keeps his composure. I’d be sobbing on the phone with Millie about now.
He runs his hand through his hair, then opens the door and slides back into the driver’s seat. “They said four hundred dollars just for the tow back to LA. That doesn’t include the cost of the actual repairs.”
Shit.
“What if we have it towed somewhere local?” I say optimistically. “Would that be covered?”
He sighs. “It’s seven PM on a Saturday night. Every repair shop is closed.” He gestures toward his window. “And we’re not exactly in a bustling metropolis here.”
I look at the deserted road, my pulse thumping wildly. Don’t panic. This isn’t a horror movie. We’re going to be fine.
Without warning, someone knocks on my window. I shriek, jetting across the console and into Alex’s lap. His hand splays over my back, holding me securely against his chest. Blistering heat surges up my spine—partly from the adrenaline, but mostly from him.
We’re nose-to-nose, his stare burning through me. “You okay?” he rasps.
I manage a shaky nod. With his other hand, he lowers the passenger window.
The pickle waitress. She damn near gave me a heart attack.
“Sorry.” She winces. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to see if you needed some help with your car.”
Limbs trembling, I crawl back to my seat and press my palm to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. It’s pummeling so hard, it’s a miracle it hasn’t broken out of my rib cage.
“There’s not a mechanic around here, by chance, is there?” Alex asks.
To our surprise, she nods. “My dad. His shop is only ten miles from here.” She leans down, crossing her arms over the window frame. “I’ll even put in a good word for you, and he’ll give you a free tow.”
“Seriously?” I squeal.
“After that tip you left? Hell, yes!” She grins. “He’ll hook you up first thing tomorrow.”
The word leaves her mouth, and the ground shifts beneath me.
Tomorrow?
As in … tomorrow?
“Tomorrow?” Alex asks.
“Yep. First thing. You got a pen?” She looks between us, and Alex digs around in the console until he finds one. She takes it from him and says to me, “Let me see your hand, darlin’.”
Tomorrow.
The word hasn’t stopped playing in an endless loop.
Tomorrow.
“Yoohoo,” she calls, tapping on the door, and I snap my gaze up.
She reaches for my hand, and it feels like Jell-O as she lifts it to scribble a phone number across my palm.
“You can call that number, and he’ll come pick you up first thing tomorrow.
” There’s that word again. “Just let him know you’re staying at the Oak Creek Lodge. ”
Woah.
Woah. Woah. Woah.
Lodge? As in …
“Oak Creek Lodge?” Alex asks.
“Yup.” She points to the large wooden cabin across the road. “Pop will pick you up there tomorrow morning.”
I glance sideways at Alex, and the expression on his face mirrors the feeling coursing through my veins: dread.