by Gigi Blume
Wrong thoughts. Bad thoughts. Shove those down.
I replaced my camera’s lens cap and carefully nuzzled it in my bag. Just a little road trip, nothing more. Then I’ll never see her again. I repeated those words, keeping my head down as I crunched through the snow towards the car. Towards that girl. That maddeningly beautiful girl.
Then she screeched. I threw my head up to see that tiny car sliding on the ice, Georgia halfway out the window. I hurried to get closer but once I set foot on the pavement my shoes slid from under me. I scrambled to get up.
“Pull the emergency brake,” I screamed. The car was still on the move, gliding dangerously close to the lake’s edge.
“The brake is on.” She was opening her door.
“Wait!” I knew how this would go down. I wrote an article on it for an online magazine once. They paid me ten bucks. “The door will shut on you if you don’t open it wide.”
“What?”
“And jump at a forty-five degree angle.”
By this time she was perched to jump. “You seriously expect me to do math right now?”
The car was still sliding. I don’t know what powers suddenly came over me, but I figure skated on over to her. Scott Hamilton, eat your heart out. The car’s front wheels hit the icy lake. Would it hold the weight?
“Jump!”
I’d never seen someone catch so much air. That woman soared through the air like one of those flying squirrels. I got to her just in time to break her fall and we both plummeted to the cold pavement. For a long moment all we could do was breathe. Heavy, spent breaths. Happy to be alive breaths. Faces intoxicatingly close to one another breaths. Georgia’s hat was askew which let long whips of hair to fall in a curtain around us. Her pillowy lips were right there, just an inch or two from touching mine. I may have lost my hearing for a few seconds. The only sound registering was the thumping of my heart. She smelled of strawberries. Probably her shampoo or body wash. Strawberries in the dead of winter. I’d gone to heaven.
I didn’t realize my arms were wound around her until she moved to lift her body off mine. A fierce shade of pink flushed over her cheeks and I had a strong suspicion it wasn’t due to the cold.
CHAPTER FIVE - GEORGIA
I couldn’t decide if I was mortified, grateful, or all fluttery. Wyatt looked ridiculous slipping and sliding along the icy pavement in those insensible shoes, arms flapping in the wind. Next thing I knew he was under me, a soft barrier from the hard ground. It’s like he was kind of heroic but in a fumbling, unlikely sort of way. This close to him, I was arrested by the smallest details. The gold flecks in his eyes, the lush, thick lashes any woman would envy, the small dimple on his left cheek.
“Ummm.” It was awkward, Really awkward. And I hoped he didn’t have a broken tailbone or something. “Are you okay?”
He blinked and sucked in a breath. “I think.”
A cold dog nose got into my face, sniffing and licking, awakening me from the temporary insanity in which I almost found Wyatt attractive. I pushed off from his chest and rolled over, sitting up to look at the car.
“It stopped sliding. Do you think we could back it up?”
Wyatt groaned as he sat up. That tailbone was going to bruise for sure. “Oh.” He sounded surprised and hopeful. “Maybe we’ll be lucky.”
Now, I’m not one to put too much stock into such things, but when a chronically unlucky person tempts fate, bad things happen. I was beginning to think bad luck followed Wyatt everywhere he went. For as soon as he uttered those words, the ice cracked and the front end of our little rental car sank into the lake.
We stared at it. Our jaws hung down. There were no words. This could not be happening. A fierce heat spread out from my chest and reached the top of my head, building pressure with each pulse beat in my temples. I felt my eyes narrow into precisely pointy death rays and I turned my head ever so slowly to direct them at the walking disaster sitting next to me. I would have remained in that position indefinitely for the off chance those death rays might actually work—if I could only concentrate enough. But my butt was cold and wet, not to mention the car sinking in the lake, and I wasn’t interested in concentrating on Wyatt more than I ought.
TWO HOURS LATER WE were warming ourselves in a greasy spoon down the street from the auto shop where the rental car was towed. Boonybushes, Nebraska. Population: eleven.
I did not kill Wyatt. I only made him wish I had.
The tow truck driver (whose name escaped me) owned and ran the auto shop, was the only mechanic, and sold his wife’s homemade jams in the front office. One could say he was a true renaissance man.
“How long did he say it would be?” I asked Wyatt as I bit into a fry. I just wanted to get back on the road and out of that one-horse town.
“I dunno. But now would be a good time to call whoever’s going to pick you up at LAX.” He slid his phone across the table. It was completely scuffed up, the screen so cracked it belonged on the backside of a plumber. I picked it up and wondered at the oddity of this guy. Did he make a habit of walking under ladders and crossing by black cats? I felt like saying, “You see Wyatt? This is why we can’t have nice things.”
I ran my finger over the screen, remembering my shattered phone. That was the least of my worries at the moment. It seemed so long ago. Funny how drastically my day had gone bonkers.
The home screen was locked.
“What’s your password?”
Wyatt hesitated. He’d just taken a bite from his burger. Barbecue sauce dripped down his hands. He held up a finger while he swallowed.
“C.”
I pressed C.
“A.”
“Okay.” I pressed the A.
“L-L.”
“Gotcha.”
“M.” A twinkle in his eyes. “O-M.”
I punched it in. “Call Mom? That’s some password.”
He took a sip of Coke. “A gentle reminder. I let the day get away from me sometimes.”
“Have you called her yet today?” I tapped on the dial pad.
He nodded, stealing one of my fries. “Did this morning.”
“Hey!” I slapped his hand. “I’m rationing those.”
“You can have one of my onion rings,” he said sheepishly.
I stared at the phone. Crack in the screen. Crack in the universe. Prisoner Zero has escaped.
“Oh no!”
“It’s just a French fry.” He held out an onion ring for me.
“No, that’s not it.” I snatched the onion ring and set in on my plate to enjoy later. “I don’t have any numbers memorized. How am I going to call my brother?”
Wyatt twisted his features in thought. “Online white pages?”
“Is that a thing?”
He shrugged.
“Anyway, he’d be unlisted.” If it was that easy to find Will Darcy’s phone number, he’d get calls from fan girls nonstop.
“Is he on Facebook or something?” Wyatt suggested. “You could direct message him.”
My brother’s idea of social media was to let someone run an official fan page. However...
“I know what I can do.” I tapped away to the search engine and found The Gardiner Theatre’s website. I could leave a message for Stella. She was a close family friend. She could get me through to my brother. It was the only thing I could think of. I was surprised to find the messaging system had a staff directory and was patched right through to Stella’s office. Interesting how she was probably more famous than my brother yet so accessible. Her chirpy British accent greeted me on her recorded voicemail.
“Stella. It’s me Georgia. Listen, my plane was snowed in and I need to get ahold of Wi—“ I stopped myself from using my brother’s real name. “Billy. Trying to get ahold of my brother Billy. Long story, my phone broke. I’m calling from a friend’s phone.” I noticed Wyatt’s lip twitch just then. “Give...Billy this number please.” I rattled off Wyatt’s number with his help and hung up, just a little despondent. What were
the chances Stella would go into the theatre a few days before Christmas? They had a Holiday Show but she didn’t need to be there for that. I handed the phone back.
“Anyone...else you’d like to try?” asked Wyatt.
“Nope.”
He shrugged and set his phone next to his plate. “So, I was thinking. We should chart a course the rest of the way to LA. Find the route with the least snow.”
“What are you talking about? We only need to get to an airport. Preferably one with a working runway.”
Wyatt stilled. Apparently that idea never crossed his mind. “Oh. I...I don’t have enough for another plane ticket.”
“Didn’t you get your travel voucher? The airline owes us.”
“Uh, no. I ran straight to the car rentals.”
This guy. Seriously.
“Well, I’m sure your name is on a list. Just show your I.D.” I took a bite of my club sandwich. “This needs avocado.”
Wyatt nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m just going to go check on Reeses.” He slid out of the booth taking a piece of bacon with him. The restaurant manager let us keep the dog tied up in the vestibule. Wyatt had set his coat on a bench and Reeses made himself comfortable, only perking up for some belly rubs every time a customer walked in.
The waitress came by to refill my water. “What’s your dog’s name?”
He wasn’t my dog, but I didn’t feel like correcting her. “Reeses.”
“Awww. That’s cute. Like a sweet little peanut butter cup. Did you name him or did your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?”
Her gaze flickered to my fake diamond ring. “Sorry. Husband.” She tossed her head around to look at Wyatt. “I sure wish I had a fella that had eyes for me the way that man looks at you. He ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin’. It’s written on his face plain as day. You’re one lucky gal.” She winked and fluttered away. She was cute but her unsolicited advice was way off. Did I look like I cared if my man went anywhere? Not that Wyatt was my man or anything.
He returned with a bright smile, that dimple making another appearance amid his afternoon scruff.
Written on his face, huh? Balderdash.
We ate in silence for some time, stealing food off one another’s plates. That diner really rocked those onion rings. Wyatt checked his phone every few minutes to see if the mechanic had called. It was getting late and once the sun set, the roads would get icier. But I had to get to L.A. even if that meant taking a red-eye.
After a while I excused myself to the single-stall restroom. I looked into the mirror while washing my hands, the words of that waitress repeating in my mind. The way that man looks at you. Was my face telling a story just because I thought my road trip companion was kinda handsome? Did I notice the defined biceps peeking out of his t-shirt sleeve? Or the dusting of dark hair along his rugged forearms? Or those thick, calloused fingertips?
Maybe.
For a split second, right after he caught me, there was a spark. Just a teeny tiny ember. Probably brought on by the position we found ourselves in, and partly because he sort of saved me. In that minuscule moment, a thousand thoughts ran through my head. That maybe I wasn’t as damaged as before. That I didn’t have to live my life in fear. That I could trust again.
But then the rental car took a nose dive and I decided trust was overrated.
“Get over yourself, Georgie,” I told my reflection. “It’s just the onion rings talking.”
I tapped my toe and sang along to the Christmas music piped into the bathroom. It was the instrumental version of Sleigh Bells but I considered it my own personal orchestra as I combed my fingers through my hair to build up courage to get out there and act casual in front of Wyatt.
Giddyup let’s go.
Fueled with confidence, I reached for the doorknob and turned the lock. The door didn’t budge. Had I forgotten to lock it that whole time only to just lock it now? I switched it back. The knob didn’t turn this time. Back again. The knob turned but the door wouldn’t open. I pulled and jiggled and pulled some more. Nothing.
I scanned the whole door. Maybe there was a latch somewhere? Nope no latch. That’s when panic set in. I could be stuck in this bathroom indefinitely. I pounded the door and cried out. “Help. I can’t get out.” This was a new low for me. More pounding. “Hello? Anybody?”
It was no use. The ladies room was at the end of a long hallway and there was no way anybody could hear me over the jolly holiday music. It was The Nightmare Before Christmas toilet edition. Who knew what magical land that door would lead to next? Was the Oogie Boogie Man on the other side?
I didn’t let up, pounding and calling out relentlessly. Surely someone would come along eventually. I noticed several other women in the diner. At least one of them would have to pee soon.
Several minutes passed. It could have been three. It could have been twenty. Hard to tell. I’d almost given up, my forehead pressed against the door, only a feeble wish holding me there.
A tap tap tap jolted me. “Honey, are you in there?” It was the waitress. A jiggle of the doorknob.
“Yes!” I cried. Jubilate Deo. “I’m stuck in here.”
“Don’t you worry, darlin’. This happens all the time.”
All the time? Then why wasn’t there a warning on the door or something?
“You see that big piece of wood in the corner there?”
I turned. A beveled plank rested against the wall behind the sink.
“Yeah.”
“Wedge that under the door.”
I followed her instructions.
“Now kick it in until it lifts the door an inch or two.”
I kicked that sucker.
“Now what?”
“Stand outta the way.”
Next thing I know, the door’s flying open. The waitress grinned at me and slapped her hip.
“Strongest part of my body,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“No worries. Most folks around here know how to deal with that ol’ door. When I saw your hubby sittin’ all by his lonesome for a long time, I figured where you’d gone off to.”
How very observant. I made a mental note to leave a huge tip.
“Why doesn’t the owner just fix the door?”
She shrugged one shoulder as we moved down the hallway. “Just one of many things to fix around here, I guess.”
I followed her into the dining area and thanked her again as she forked in the opposite direction. When I reached my booth, Wyatt was on the phone, talking animatedly with his hands and smiling like a goon. I wondered who he was talking to. A girlfriend? Maybe he followed his own advice and called his mom. I sank onto the cushion. Did he even notice I’d been gone?
Wyatt laughed. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. All our luggage was in the trunk. Small miracles.”
A pause while the person on the other end asked a question.
“Well, I hope the guy can fix it. I don’t know about mechanical stuff.”
He nodded, listening in the phone.
“You got it, man. Anyway, Georgia just sat down so I’m going to pass the phone to her, but it was cool chatting with you, Billy. I’ll make sure she gets home safely. Okay. Bye.”
Wyatt passed the phone. What on earth?
“Hello?”
“Who the heck is that bozo?” Will barked on the other end. “He wouldn’t shut up. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“He sounded a whole lotta crazy. You’re in Iowa?”
“I think this is Nebraska. But yeah. It’s been crazy.” I glanced at Wyatt. He had his eyes on the dessert menu card.
“You just stay put. I’m coming to get you.” There was an urgency in Will’s voice.
“No way. I’m fine. You get ready for your big day. I’ll be there soon.”
“I don’t like the idea of you traveling with that guy. You don’t even know him, George.”
“It’s just until we reach a major airport. Don’t
get all action hero on me. I’m a big girl.”
He sighed heavily. “You sound like Beth.”
“That’s why you love us both so much. Text me Bing’s number and I’ll call him when I have an ETA.”
Bing was my brother’s best man. He and his girlfriend Jane lived in Manhattan, not too far from me. Both of them had awesome Broadway gigs but were already in California for the wedding.
“You should have flown out with Bing and Jane a week ago.”
“You know why I couldn’t do that.”
He was silent for a long moment. Probably conjuring up all sorts of scenarios. I knew he was only trying to protect me. But he was getting married and he had his wife to think of now.
“I’ll check in with you every few hours. Will that make you feel better?”
“No. I want a tracking device on that man.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Bye.”
Will grunted. I took that as goodbye and ended the call. Wyatt looked up from the dessert menu completely oblivious.
“Billy seems like a nice guy.”
Yeah. If you only knew what he thought about you, pal.
CHAPTER SIX - WYATT
As I stood in Al’s Auto Repair, watching Georgia’s face become increasingly redder, I scolded myself for not paying closer attention to what the mechanic said when he towed the car. Georgia’s chin dimpled under the pressure of her clenched jaw and her cute little booted foot tapped impatiently as Al explained why he couldn’t do any repairs.
“I don’t understand. You said these things could sometimes be fixed.”
“The operative word there is sometimes,” said Al. “But even if I drain the intake manifold and the combustion chamber, I’d still need to disconnect the fuel injectors and crank the engine over. Maybe then the starter would have enough torque to fling all the standing water from the spark plugs. Then, if the water reached the axle differential...” He scratched his chin, thinking about the various scenarios. It was Greek to me. I should have paid closer attention in my high school shop class instead of daydreaming about poetry.