The Accidental Text

by Becky Monson

  “A really great person.” He dips his chin once.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She lives in Boston. Married and has a kid. A boy.”

  We sit in silence, the low hum of the road beneath us the only sound.

  “If you hadn’t texted me, I’d have missed out on this too,” Chase says after a bit.

  This time I do reach over and give his arm a squeeze. “Strange how life works.”

  Chapter 20

  The next Saturday, I’m waiting for Chase under a big tent.

  It’s Drives for Dreams day, and I look forward to it more than anything else we do at Cooper’s. Sure, it’s taxing, and when I finally roll into bed afterward, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. But it’s one of the most fun, most rewarding things we do.

  It was my mom’s idea, but Chelsea made it happen. I have to give it to her—planning an anniversary party and Drives for Dreams in not only the same year but within weeks of each other might have given the average person heart palpitations. But not Chelsea. She somehow managed to make both happen and with only one slight meltdown.

  “Wow,” Chase says as he walks toward me. He looks good in cargo shorts and a dark-blue T-shirt. He’s got those aviator sunglasses on again and a toothpick sticking out the corner of his mouth.

  “Yep, pretty cool, huh?” I say. I’m wearing a white Cooper’s polo, shorts, and a red baseball cap, ready to tackle the day. I put an arm around Chase’s waist as soon as he’s standing next to me, giving him a side hug. He reciprocates.

  “So cool.” He does that half-grin, but I can see the giddiness underneath.

  There are tables set up underneath the tent, balloons and Drives for Dreams banners decorating the space. Near the front is a full buffet. Right now they’re setting up for breakfast, and they’ll switch to lunch later, as this a nearly all-day affair.

  Beyond the tent, just over a large wire fence and under a beautiful blue cloudless sky, is a full racetrack one mile in length. We’re set up off to the side of the grandstand seating, which will soon be full of people.

  Each spring Cooper’s puts on this event, and we donate the proceeds to various local charities. We’ve used the same track since we started—the owner donates the facility. Our high-profile clients can come out and race their own car, the entrance fee acting as a donation. We also sell tickets for onlookers to come and watch the fun.

  All in all, it’s been a very successful venture. Something to be proud of. I know I am, and Chelsea is usually happy with everything once the event is over and she can relax, when she declares that she will never do this again. But, somehow, she musters up the energy to do it again the next year. Thank goodness, because neither Devon nor I could.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, looking up at Chase, who’s still taking in everything. We’re here early, with the Cooper’s employees and vendors finishing up last-minute things.

  As part of Chase’s quest for adventure, I’ve arranged it so Devon will give him a ride around the track in the Lamborghini. Chase sent a GIF of someone fainting when I asked him if he wanted to do it.

  It wasn’t hard to set up—I just mentioned it to Devon, and being the salesman that he is, he thought it would be a great idea to give some extra attention to our “potential client.” I feel a little sick about the dishonesty, but I’m already in too deep here.

  So I told Chase to meet us here early, before all the festivities start.

  “Let’s go,” I say, dropping my hand from around Chase’s waist and gesturing for him to follow me. He ditches his toothpick in a trash bin on the way.

  We walk over to the entrance to the track, where Devon is waiting, looking official in his Cooper’s racing suit, the Lamborghini still wrapped in bright green with the company name all over it. We didn’t have time to change out the wrap like Chelsea had requested. I had to talk her down after she found that out. The green works, even if it doesn’t go perfectly with her color theme of red and charcoal gray.

  “Hey, man,” Devon says as we approach.

  “Devon,” Chase says. “Thanks for doing this.”

  “Not a problem. Mags gave you all the info, I’m assuming.”

  I nod my head.

  “Then let’s do this,” he says.

  I did give Chase the rundown: no breakfast beforehand in case he gets carsick, get a good night’s sleep—all the stuff Devon told me to say. But I also needed to make sure Chase didn’t somehow blurt out how we met. I might have repeated myself a lot. I don’t need my family finding out that Chase is not a client but the current owner of our mom’s old phone number.

  Devon gives Chase a helmet and I walk him over to the passenger side. He stands by the door, helmet in hand, Devon already in the car waiting.

  He gives me a mischievous grin and I eye him dubiously.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

  “I don’t think so …”

  He reaches up and taps on his cheek with a finger. “Where’s my kiss for good luck?”

  I shake my head as I approach him and give him the quickest of kisses on his cheek so as not to be caught by Devon. Not that he could see anything from his vantage point in the low-riding car.

  Chase smiles, takes off his sunglasses, and puts on his helmet. He gets in the car and with a rev of the engine, they’re off. Starting slow and then building up the pace. Devon is trained to drive my dad’s car quite fast on this track. I have no idea how fast he’ll go, but he does like to show off.

  The sight of them driving off reminds me of my mom and how much she used to love speeding around the track. Sometimes she’d drive, and sometimes she’d let my dad or Devon—when he was old enough—drive her. I can still see her face afterward, bright and glowing, and hear her laughter, warm and full.

  I watch as Devon and Chase go around the track, and then again, and I think I count ten times before I see the car start to slow down. As they get closer, it looks like the car is swerving a little. Is something wrong? I can barely see them through the angle of the windshield. I feel a tingle of panic travel down my back as the car pulls up to me and stops with a jerk. Did Chase say something to Devon? Not that you can do much talking in that car, the engine is so loud.

  Chase’s door opens and he practically crawls out. He makes a moaning sound as he throws off his helmet and proceeds to throw up all over the ground.

  “Oh my gosh,” I say as I run over to him. I cover my mouth and nose with both hands, not wanting to smell anything, as I consider myself a sympathetic barfer. Some people cry when other people cry. I do that too, but I also barf when other people barf. I’ve got a very healthy gag reflex.

  “I thought you told him not to eat!” Devon says, irritated. He takes off his helmet and tosses it inside the car.

  “I did!” I rub my hand up and down Chase’s back, keeping my mouth and nose covered with my other hand and my eyes on anything but him as he continues to throw up pretty much anything and everything in his stomach.

  Chase groans when he’s finished. He sits back on his butt, on the asphalt of the track. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. My gag reflex struggles, and I choke back the feeling.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He looks up at me, his eyes red and watering.

  “Dude, you okay?” Devon asks, coming to stand near me.

  Chase looks at us, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to yell. I can’t tell by the look on his face what he’s thinking right now. Then a slow smile spreads across his face, wide and broad. “That. Was. Awesome,” Chase says, full body movements with each word. Then he starts to laugh. A big belly one.

  I look to Devon, squinting my eyes at him. “What did you do to him?”

  Devon scrunches his face at me. “What do you mean?”

  “How fast did you go?”

  “As fast as I’ve gone with any other client.” Devon looks at Chase. “Do you get carsick, man?”

  “Yeah? Sometimes,” Chase says, not laugh
ing anymore, looking a little pained, like the up might chuck again. He puts a hand on his stomach.

  Devon turns to me. “Did you even ask him if he gets carsick?”

  “I thought I did. I know I told him not to eat.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Chase says. “I grabbed something on the way over.”

  I reach up and cover my mouth. Could I have been so worried that somehow Chase would spill the beans on how we met that I forgot to tell him everything I was supposed to?

  Devon gives me a look of frustration, his eyes sending daggers in my direction.

  He turns to Chase, who’s still on the ground. “I wouldn’t have driven so fast had I known, man. So sorry,” Devon says, clearly worried about losing the sale—a sale that was never going to happen. Maybe we could rent a luxury car and have it wrapped? Seems like a lot of work. I’m going to have to figure a way out of this and a way to let Devon know that it was nothing he did that caused Chase to not get his nonexistent car wrapped at Cooper’s.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” Chase says to Devon. “That’s got to be a highlight of my life. Even with the puking.”

  Devon chuckles. “Glad to hear it.”

  Chase stands up from his spot, dusting the back of his shorts off. He still looks a little green, but he seems to be okay.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say to him, putting a hand on his back. “I didn’t know you got carsick.”

  “It’s been a long time since I have,” Chase says.

  “Go get him something to drink,” Devon instructs. “I’ll get someone to … hose this down.”

  “I could do it,” Chase offers.

  “No worries, man. Not your fault,” says Devon. Then he darts me a look that indicates where he thinks the blame lies.

  “Come on,” I say, “let’s go get you a drink.”

  After stopping by the bathroom so Chase can wash up, and more apologies from me, we go to the tent to find him a Sprite or something to help settle his stomach.

  People are starting to arrive, getting plates of food and sitting down under the tent. Some of the clients, most dressed in racing gear, are gathered together, chatting. Cooper’s employees are busy running around doing last-minute things, no doubt on orders from Chelsea, given through the walkie-talkies they’re all carrying.

  I spy my dad standing by the buffet and briefly wonder if we should take another route to the drinks, but think better of it. I might as well introduce Chase to my dad.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say as we approach.

  “Magpie,” he says when he sees me. He pulls me in for a hug, giving me a kiss on the top of my head. “Who you got here?”

  “Right.” I pull out of the hug. “This is Chase Beckett. Chase, this is my dad, Nick Cooper.”

  “Didn’t I see you at the anniversary party?” Dad asks, reaching his hand out.

  Chase nods and then shakes my dad’s hand. I’m a little surprised that he remembered Chase being there. He’s not all that observant; plus, June was with him. I thought he’d be too occupied to really notice. It wasn’t like Chase and I were getting all close and personal, except for the hand-holding thing. But I know my dad didn’t notice that. Only Chelsea is snoopy enough to notice that.

  “Yes, sir,” Chase says. “It was a great party.”

  “How did you get to know Maggie, here?” Dad asks, his fatherly voice in full effect.

  “I’m … interested in having my car wrapped,” Chase says. I caught his beat of hesitance and feel a little tinge of guilt work its way down my spine.

  I know I practically beat the story into Chase on the phone last night, so much so that I neglected to tell him all the things I was supposed to. But it feels extra wrong to lead my dad astray like this. Hence the reason I wanted to avoid him in the first place.

  My dad’s eyes widen. His demeanor changes from protective father to businessman in an instant. “Well, we’d be happy to help you with that,” my dad says.

  “Sorry, Dad,” I say before he starts plying Chase with car questions, “you’ll have to excuse us. I actually need to get Chase here a Sprite. Devon just took him around the track in the Lambo.”

  “Did he? What did you think?” The look of pride on my dad’s face is unmistakable.

  “It was … amazing,” Chase says, looking almost reverent.

  “How about that horsepower?” My dad mirrors Chase’s expression.

  “Unbelievable,” Chase says.

  “Next time, you’ll have to drive it,” Dad says, reaching up and patting Chase on the shoulder just once.

  Chase puts a hand to his heart. “I’d be honored.”

  I roll my eyes. I guess cars are cool and all, but not on the religious level I’m witnessing right now.

  “Let this man drive the Lambo,” Dad declares to me.

  “Sounds good,” I say. “First let me get him a Sprite.”

  “I’ve gotta say, I don’t love all this lying to your family,” Chase tells me as we walk away, leaning his head in toward me so he won’t be heard.

  “I know, I don’t like it either.”

  We approach a large drink cooler and I open it and fish around for a Sprite. I try to wipe off some of the water from the can and then hand it to him.

  “Can’t we just tell them the truth?”

  I pull my head backward, surely giving myself multiple chins. “Do you like having me around?”

  Chase wrinkles his brow. “Well … yes.”

  “Then we can’t tell them. We’ll have to come up with another excuse. They’d probably have me committed.”

  Chase smacks his mouth at this. “No, they wouldn’t. You have a great family. Plus, it’s not all that crazy.”

  I tilt my head and press my lips into a thin line.

  “Okay, it’s a little crazy.”

  “I do have a great family,” I say, reaching up and dusting a piece of lint off Chase’s shirt. “I just think it’s better that we not tell them.”

  “Okay,” he says. “But we need to find a way out of this car wrapping business. Or I’ll just have to buy an expensive car.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I have a plan. We’ll tell them you changed your mind on the car but now we’re friends.”

  “Can we do it soon?”

  “Yes,” I say, and give him a nod.

  “Are you Chase?” I hear a voice say from behind me and I widen my eyes. I turn to see Chelsea standing there, a clipboard in one hand, a walkie-talkie in the other.

  Chase steps around me. “I am,” he says. “You must be Chelsea.” He gives her a little wave, since he can’t exactly shake her full hands.

  A look of confusion passes over Chelsea’s face. “Are you here with Maggie?”

  “Well … she invited me,” Chase says.

  “I’ve heard you’re looking into getting your car wrapped.” There’s an accusation to her tone, like she’s not buying any of this. Which is ridiculous. I’ve come up with a solid story.

  Chase looks to me, a question in his eyes. Now is not the time to change our story. “Yes,” I say, jumping in. “He’s just got to buy the car.”

  “Which … I’m doing next week,” Chase adds, not sounding convincing at all.

  “That’s right.” I nod my head quickly and then stop myself. Methinks I doth protest too much.

  Chelsea looks at us, her blue eyes moving back and forth between Chase and me. I see the moment when she realizes she doesn’t have time for this crap.

  She holds out the walkie-talkie to me. “You ready to get to work?” she asks. She’s got her irritated, sarcastic voice on.

  “Of course,” I say, taking the device from her. She’s acting as if I’m just here for the fun while she works her butt off. I know my assignment, and it doesn’t start until the racing begins.

  “Nice to meet you, Chase,” Chelsea says, and then turns around and walks the other way, pulling another walkie-talkie off the waistband of her jeans and saying something into it.

  “Guess you b
etter work.” Chase moves to stand in front of me, a nod at the device in my hands.

  “I’ve got a little longer. I’m in charge of making sure everything on the track goes smoothly. Racing doesn’t start for another hour.”

  Chase nods and then something over my shoulder catches his eye. He leans in. “Dawson, twelve o’clock.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. I’d forgotten that I’d see him here.

  I knew he’d be here, of course, since all Cooper’s employees have to be. I just didn’t think all that much about seeing him. I’ve hardly spoken to him since the last time he was in my office. Only one time that I can think of, when I was manning the desk for Robin and he was on his way out for lunch. He stopped to say hi and tell me that he’d decided to give Chad another chance. Of course he brought up Chad. Always Chad.

  What’s weird is that I didn’t worry or agonize over seeing him today, like I normally do. I must have been so caught up in getting Chase his dream ride in the Lambo that I didn’t have a chance to think about it. I didn’t even bother wondering if Dawson and I would talk and what I’d say to him. Or if I could say something to him.

  Maybe seeing him at that party with Natasha was the remedy I needed for this stupid crush.

  “Should we go talk to him?” Chase pulls me from my thoughts with his question.

  “Dusting off those wingman skills?” I lift my brow.

  “I mean, I’m not just using you for the Lamborghini.”

  I laugh. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “So, what should we do?” he asks, his pointer finger tapping on his can of soda. “I could strike up a conversation and see what’s really happening with Natasha.”

  I scrunch my face. “How would you do that?”

  He lifts a shoulder and then lets it drop. “Dunno. You’ve seen my skills, though. I could make it happen.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” I look over my shoulder at Dawson and see him talking to Chad, then I turn back to Chase. “You know what?” I say. “I don’t much feel like it today.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. I think I’m just going to take a break from all that.”

  “All right, then,” Chase says, giving me that slight smile of his. “I’ll be ready with my wingman skills. Just say the word.”