Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  His face reminded me of those mimes in Manhattan who swipe smiles into frowns with a wave of a hand. I wanted to wave my hand in front Wyatt’s face to turn that frown upside down.

  In my defense, the subject of last names never came up in the strange circumstances we found ourselves in. At least that’s what I told myself. In truth, I was tired of users. People who pretended to be my friend but only wanted to get at my famous brother.

  Besides. What was I supposed to say to Wyatt while we were thrust in this weird situation anyway? Oh by the way, my brother is a movie star. Moving on.

  As I watched Wyatt retreat farther into his thoughts, I told myself there must be some other explanation. Maybe he was trying hard not to burp or something.

  He kicked his shoe against the edge of the asphalt, soooo enthralled by the uneven pavement.

  Ah! Bumpy. So cool.

  The highway went on for miles in each direction with nothing in sight. Just lots of flat flatness. And snow.

  Then something caught my eye. About a hundred feet away, the road was littered with debris. Things I couldn’t quite make out were scattered here and there. Somebody was a litterbug. I tilted my head and took a few steps.

  “Wait a minute.” I took a few more steps. “Wyatt, check this out.”

  He came over followed by Reeses and before we knew it we were sprinting towards the debris. Except as we got closer, we discovered that stuff was more than just trash. There were empty wallets and purses, a ripped up denim jacket, a discarded cigarette package, a lipstick, and lots of miscellaneous wrappers and papers.

  “As if robbery wasn’t enough, let’s make it interesting by trashing the highway,” I deadpanned.

  Wyatt went around picking up the items with his one hand. I joined in to help him.

  “You wanna bring this stuff back?” I suggested, even though I didn’t want to.

  “No. Let’s just consolidate it and pile it on the side of the road out of the way of passing cars.”

  “Good idea,” I agreed.

  It took longer to pick stuff up one-handed, but neither one of us wanted to set down our sodas for some reason. Then I found a phone. Cracked screen, scuffs all over.

  “Is this yours?” I held it up for Wyatt to see.

  His face lit up. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe your luck is turning around,” I said.

  “Doubtful.” He turned it over in his hand. “It’s even more cracked than before. And the case is missing.”

  “Does it work?”

  He tapped it, raising his brows. “Actually, yeah.”

  “Maybe we can find your wallet,” I said, hopeful.

  “And your purse.”

  I shook my head. “Everything was inside my carry-on. I’d have found it by now.”

  We kept on down the road, picking up stuff as we got farther and farther away from the turnoff to the little town. It occurred to me we’d get to California faster by walking if we’d have just avoided all the modes of transportation we’d attempted.

  We reached what appeared to be the end of the items discarded out of the robber’s window. Wyatt’s wallet wasn’t on the road. We’d just made the last pile of stuff when a rickety black truck came down the highway, slowing down when we were in sight and stopping right by us. There was a cobra painted on the hood.

  A middle-aged man rolled down the window, taking in the sight of all the litter. He had wild eyes. It was a little scary. “What’s goin’ on here?” His voice was more of a growl.

  I spoke up. “Just cleaning the highway.”

  He squinted, thick salt-and-pepper brows furrowed over his eyes. “Why?”

  “We care about the environment?”

  Then Wyatt stepped in front of me, a small gesture, but a protective one just the same. “We were robbed and hoping to find some of our things.”

  The man nodded thoughtfully, glancing back at the turnoff to the tiny town. “At the pie place back there?”

  “Yes,” Wyatt and I said in unison.

  “Sounds about right. Happens every year.”

  So we’d been told.

  “Listen,” I said, hoping for answers. This guy had a seriously ominous vibe going on but he seemed to know what was up around these parts. “Do you know if there are any more busses scheduled to come by? We missed our bus while we were filing the police report.”

  The man studied us for a long moment, rolled down the driver’s side window, spat, then turned back to us. “Which way you headed?”

  “We were headed to Avery, Missouri,” Wyatt said. “But we’re on our way to California.”

  The man grunted. “You’re a ways off from Missouri. And it’s the wrong direction if you want to get to California.”

  Yeah, we get that.

  “There ain’t no more busses far as I know.”

  Disappointment shot through me. We were penniless and stuck in the middle of nowhere. And I resolutely drew the line at hitchhiking.

  “I can take you as far as I can,” said the man.

  I was poised to decline when Wyatt asked, “Where are you headed?”

  “South.”

  Oh great. Not vague at all.

  Wyatt turned to me, eyes bright, all hopeful and cheery. Old Wyatt was back. His expression declared, We’ve been saved!

  I hoped my face communicated my alarm. No! Run away. Stranger danger.

  He took me aside. “We don’t have to go back to Avery. We can keep going South.”

  “I’m not getting in a truck with Wild-Eyes Ludwig.”

  “What’s the alternative? Walk to California?”

  How did he know the thought had crossed my mind? “Maybe the cops can take us somewhere safe.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Those guys? Fat chance.”

  He had a point. Officer 1 and officer 2 were a couple of good ‘ol boys. Right before we took off I noticed them raiding the beer fridge.

  “Ya comin’ or not?” The guy was growing impatient but Wyatt held my shoulders at arm’s length, leveling his eyes to mine. “Alright. We’ll wait for the bus.”

  There was no bus. And even if there was one, we weren’t guaranteed they’d honor our tickets. Wyatt clapped his hand on the passenger side window frame and offered a grateful smile at the man. “Thanks, but we’re gonna stick around here for a while.”

  “Suit yourselves.” The man put the truck in gear.

  “Wait.” I ran to stop him. “We accept.”

  He gave me a stern look. “You ax-cept?” He said the word like it tasted bad on his tongue.

  “Yes. We accept your offer to give us a ride.”

  He shook his head. His expression was all, ‘weird out-of-towners’ and he set the gear back to park. We shuffled in, Wyatt taking the center seat. Reeses on my lap.

  The ride was uncomfortable in more ways than one. The interior of the truck smelled of tobacco and something musty. Every now and then the man would hawk a loogie out the window, and Wyatt’s many attempts at conversation were abruptly cut off. Wyatt introduced himself, me and Reeses, but was met with silence. The man had absolutely no interest in chatter nor did he find it necessary to tell us his name.

  We rode as the sun began to set. The thought at the forefront of my mind the entire time being: Where exactly South are we going?

  Studying his profile, I noticed the deep-set lines on the man’s face. The heavy, loose skin under his eyes making him appear more like a basset hound. The permanent scowl on his features. He had a faint scar on his chin. And his left hand had two missing fingers.

  About an hour in, he pulled onto a dirt road. The soft slush of snow mixed with the earth to form muddy ice trails in lieu of tire tracks. The surroundings became increasingly overgrown with evergreens and wild brush as we progressed to this mysterious—and alarmingly remote—destination. The man didn’t say a word until he parked in front of a decrepit shack. A felled tree stretched the front of the property, serving no purpose other than to make the place appear abandoned. Old tires were strewn
haphazardly in random spots, and the disturbing presence of an ax perched prominently on a chopping block right in front of the truck.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” With a grunt, the man lowered himself from the truck and slammed the door shut. Wyatt’s Adam’s apple bobbed. We exchanged a frightened look.

  The man rounded to the back of the truck, opened the tailgate, and slid out something heavy inside a large, black bag. He slumped it over his shoulder and disappeared around the back of the shack.

  “Wyatt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you think is in that bag?”

  He swallowed hard. “I’m afraid to find out.”

  “Was that my imagination, or did that look like a body?”

  He didn’t answer. He was thinking what I was thinking. This was the sort of place people went missing.

  “Wyatt?”

  “Shhh.”

  “I have to pee.” I shouldn’t have polished off that soda.

  “Hold it.”

  A minute or two later, the man returned. He got in the truck without a word, his expressionless face betraying nothing, and he drove us back onto the main highway. The air was thick. Any minute now we could be dead meat. Was this how he lured his victims? Where was he taking us? If I survived this, there was no way I’d tell my brother.

  We crossed the Kansas state line a while later and before we knew it, the twinkly lights of a quaint little town came into view. As we entered the center of town, the sight was an explosion of Christmas. Garlands hung from every surface creating a canopy of green over the streets from the rooftops to the lampposts. All the shops were decked out with wreaths and bright red bows. Colored lights covered every tree. Was that a gazebo in the town square? I could have sworn we’d stumbled upon a Hallmark movie sound stage.

  “This is as far as I go.” The scary man pulled over to the curb, the truck still running. In other words, “Get out.”

  So, you’re not going to kill us after all?

  Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride.”

  The man responded with a minuscule nod.

  “Where are we, anyway?”

  Stop asking questions, genius. Let’s go.

  But something in the man’s features softened for one fleeting moment when he said, “Bethlehem.”

  Wyatt ruined the moment with a snort. “You’re joking, right?”

  He was met with a cold stare. “Do I look like I joke?”

  “No, sir.”

  My bladder couldn’t take it anymore. I had to find a bathroom.

  “Thanks again,” I said, opening my door. “Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

  He turned his scowly face and for the first time since he picked us up, really looked at me and Wyatt. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing as though words were just too much trouble and not really worth the effort. But then he focused on Wyatt, surprising us with this gem:

  “Tell your woman you love her every day. Promise me that?”

  Wyatt nodded. “Yes, sir. I promise.”

  The man cast his eyes on me, and then back to Wyatt, then down to where Wyatt unintentionally rested his hand on my knee and said, “Never take each other for granted. Cherish every moment because life is short.”

  Then he shooed us out of the truck and we wished him a Merry Christmas as he drove away.

  We stood on the sidewalk all aglow from the warm string lights overhead and laughed. Grateful to be alive. Amazed, elated, and perplexed. And happy. It was strange but I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather share this with. It was uniquely ours.

  Wyatt scanned our surroundings. “So. Little town of Bethlehem. Let’s see if we have to sleep in a stable.”

  13

  Georgia

  It could have been an idyllic scene. A soft flurry of snow cascading onto the red stone-paved street, colonial brick buildings with brightly-lit shop windows and welcoming entryways, old fashioned street lamps, and—did I hear Christmas music piped onto the sidewalks? I wouldn’t be surprised if the buttery aroma of popcorn reached my nose through hidden vents. There I was, strolling along Main Street, Bethlehem with a sweet dog and even sweeter man. It could have been idyllic—if we weren’t completely lost.

  “Did we just teleport into Disneyland?” I joked. “Now I want a churro.”

  Wyatt grinned. “Another place on my bucket list.”

  “It’s so fun during the holidays,” I said with a sigh. “Main Street looks just like this but not as cold. Then there’s the giant turkey legs.”

  My stomach growled.

  “I heard that.”

  I was too tired, grubby, and hungry to be embarrassed. “What do we do now?”

  “First, you should report your credit cards stolen.” He handed me his battered phone. “Then call your brother...’Billy’. Or should I call him Will?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I haven’t bored you with a list of names of all my siblings. It’s no big deal.”

  “Really?” It was usually a big deal to most people I’d meet. It’s not fun being the sister of Celeb Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.

  Wyatt cradled my chin, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “Really.”

  Gah!

  Wyatt took Reeses to do his business while I called my brother. I was relieved it went to voicemail. I left a quick, chirpy message to please report my credit cards stolen, keeping it light.

  I’m fine. Just got robbed. No big deal. Ha ha. Bye.

  I wasn’t looking forward to his reply. In fact, I didn’t think Wyatt’s battery would last that long. It was at ten percent. Why did the guy not plug it in when I’d suggested it?

  I found him a few minutes later chatting it up with an old woman. She was the quintessential grandma. Warm smile, rosy cheeks, and a puff of white curls atop her head. Reeses was all over the attention, licking her face as she cradled him in her arms.

  “I had Russell Terriers all my life,” she said scratching Reeses behind the ears. “Jo Jo was such a spitfire. Always getting into things.”

  When she noticed me her eyes twinkled and she smiled sweetly. “Hello there. You must be the bride.”

  The bride?

  Wyatt looked at me like “Just go with it.” So I extended my hand in greeting. “I’m Georgia.”

  “Oh, we don’t shake hands around here,” she said, and pulled me into an awkward hug with Reeses between us.

  I patted her back. “Oh, okay.”

  She handed Reeses over to Wyatt. “I look forward to seeing you two later.”

  With a wink and a final dog kiss, she strolled off.

  “The bride?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “She just kinda assumed.”

  “Anyway, we need to plug this in.” I handed back his phone. “It’s almost dead.”

  “Oh fiddlesticks.”

  Fiddlesticks? This guy.

  He winced. “The charger was in my backpack.”

  “Oh. Fiddlesticks is right.”

  We were officially out of luck. No money, no identification, no phone. Also no change of clothes, no toothbrush, no transportation...the list was laughable.

  He frowned at his phone. “Rats.”

  I shook my head at him and chuckled at all the absurdities of the last two days. He really was the unluckiest guy I’d ever met. “You should have named your dog Snoopy.”

  “Snoopy? Why’s that?”

  “Because you, my friend, are Charlie Brown.”

  A grin cracked across his beautiful face. “Does that make you the red-haired girl?”

  My cheeks burned bright. I tried to cover them with my gloved hands. Changing the subject was also a good tactic.

  “Moving on. Who was that lady?”

  “Oh, just Reeses’ newest friend. She told me all about her grandkids. I practically know her whole family now. How long were you gone?”

  A couple minutes tops.

  “
She seemed...friendly.”

  “She was, in fact. Her grandson plays a shepherd boy in the local church’s Living Nativity. His name is A.J., he’s six years old, and he wants Spiderman underwear for Christmas. Oh, and he likes to cook. He wants to be a chef. Apparently he makes a fantastic banana bread.”

  “That’s quite a lot of information.”

  He bobbed his head animatedly. “So, you want to go?”

  “Go where?”

  “To the Living Nativity. Remember that commercial we heard? This must be it.”

  “We were pretty far away from here when we heard that commercial. And that car radio didn’t have a very good antenna.”

  “Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle.”

  Oh, Wyatt and his Christmas miracles.

  “It will be a Christmas miracle if they have food at this thing.”

  Wyatt set Reeses down and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. His gleeful smile shot right to the feels—his face just inches from mine as he squeezed me. He meant it as a friendly gesture but this close to him my nerves jumped to attention. There was warmth in his orbit. The scent that was all Wyatt crept into my senses and made me a little tipsy. I reeled on my feet.

  “You alright?”

  Not at all.

  “Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

  With a look of concern, he released me to offer his arm. “I have it on good authority there’ll be the best banana bread in the world and maybe some of Grandma’s homemade fudge.”

  “Sounds fancy.” I took his arm. It was so cute, because his chest puffed up with the task of escorting me to the church thing.

  He winked and I was done. My belly about flipped over.

  “Only the best for Miss Darcy.”

  14

  Wyatt

  Note to self: When asking for directions in a small town, “Just around the corner” actually means “Pass the courthouse, down the street, turn right at Lu Lu’s Bakery, go around some stables, keep going down a back road outside of town, and another half-mile on the left.”