Driving Miss Darcy

by Gigi Blume

  I pulled her into me, straightening our bodies into an upright position. Disaster averted. And she was so close. Our noses almost touching. Her eyes, huge pools of maple syrup shined at me, blinking. I could make out every lash—long, feathery fringe brushing against her brows as she gazed at me.

  What was that expression? Surprise? Whimsy? Desire?

  I zeroed in on her lips. They were parted ever so slightly. And dang! This girl had kissable lips. I could get lost in the softness of them. I could nuzzle right in there and wrap myself up for a long winter’s nap.

  Not that there would be any napping involved.

  Then she smiled softly and I got spooked or something because I jumped back. Reeses yelped. Did I step on his paw? I stumbled to right myself, tripping over the fluffy moccasins on my feet. Reeses leapt into Georgia’s arms to avoid my backward trajectory. I did that thing with my arms to find my balance, but that only made things worse when my body hit a work shelf. The thing was made of a flimsy aluminum. Really, it was a wonder it could hold anything at all because as I fell to the floor, grasping for anything to break my fall, the whole shelving unit came crashing down on me. And all the mechanicky stuff on the shelves came tumbling down with it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT - GEORGIA

  The more time I spent with this Wyatt guy, the more I was convinced he was Charlie Brown in the flesh. I’d never met anyone with worse luck. And what a clutz! He did dance well, though. That was nice. But outside of doing the boogie woogie, he was a walking disaster.

  “Are you all right?” I went to reach for him just as a box of washers fell on his head.

  “Ow.” He winced, but at least didn’t seemed too damaged. Reeses leapt from my arms to comfort him. “Not now, doggie.”

  Wyatt peeled himself off the floor and assessed the mess. “This will be fun to clean.”

  “I’ll help you,” I offered.

  He gave me a sheepish grin rubbing his head. “Actually, could you check if there’s an ice pack somewhere?”

  “Ice pack. Got it.”

  I hurried to the office where I found the first aid kit. Just Band-Aids and a half-used tube of Neosporin. Then I looked in the freezer. There were plenty of Hungry Man dinners but no ice pack.

  “Welp. I guess this will have to do.”

  I grabbed the frozen dinner and snagged a couple of ginger ales from the fridge. This was a well-stocked refrigerator. A package of Italian salami and cheese taunted me. I took that, too.

  I got back to the garage to find Wyatt and Reeses in the Mustang, snug under one of the blankets. I slipped in to join them.

  “This is all I could find,” I said, handing him the frozen dinner. He accepted it with a smile and placed it on his head.

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be. At least it wasn’t an audience of hundreds. Here.” I handed him a ginger ale.

  “Thanks.” He rested the can on the other side of his head.

  “That’s for drinking.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have a free hand.” He winked. “Salisbury steak dinner and a soda. I’m all set.”

  “Well when you’re done heating it up with your head I’ll pop it in the microwave for you,” I joked.

  He chuckled. I tore open the salami and cheese pack and we recounted his ridiculous fall while we nibbled. I fed him his first few bites before he abandoned his makeshift ice pack so he could use his hands.

  I shut off the radio to save the car’s battery and we talked for a long time about Christmas traditions. He told me about making minced meat empanadas with his mom (well, less making them and more eating them) and I told him about our California snowball fights which were really just an excuse to throw crumpled up wrapping paper at each other.

  We finished our snack and moved on to dessert. Candy canes and some cookies Wyatt had in his backpack. We gobbled those up. Then he insisted I at least text my brother to give him peace of mind. Wyatt already had Will’s number saved as ‘Billy’ in his phone’s contacts. So I sent a quick text while Wyatt took Reeses out and then I set the phone to silent.

  They weren’t gone long. Even Reeses was done with the cold.

  “Brrr.” Wyatt stretched his feet on the dash. “You know what sounds really good right now?”

  “An antacid?” I was beginning to regret all that salami.

  “Nope. A warm, cozy fire and a mug of hot cocoa.”

  Ah, yeah. That did sound nice. I became more aware of the chill inside the garage and tucked my blanket under my chin. Even with the central heat on, the place lacked the insulation to keep it in.

  “Mmmm. That’ll be something to look forward to when we get to California.”

  He laughed. “I doubt the amenities are that snug at the Motel 9.”

  “Oh. I guess not.”

  I was on the verge of inviting him to come visit while in Los Angeles but then I thought better of it. My brother guarded his privacy.

  Instead I asked, “What did you say you’re doing in L.A. on Christmas? Some top secret news story?”

  He hesitated. “Yeeeah.”

  “Is it political?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Papal visit?”

  He laughed. “No. Kinda the opposite.”

  “Hmmm.” I scrunched my brows together. What could it be?

  “Okay. I can tell you this.”

  I perked up and Reeses took the opportunity to nuzzle under my arm.

  “All I can say is that it’s an exclusive. There’s a good chance the story hasn’t leaked. If I get this, I hold all the cards. It’s a good payday.”

  “So if it’s such a secret story, how did you learn about it?”

  “I know a guy.”

  I snorted. “Riiiight.”

  “Whatever.” Wyatt shrugged and reached in his bag for more snacks. “Snickers?”

  “No thanks.” My tummy couldn’t handle any more junk food.

  Wyatt noshed on his candy bar. Not a care in the world.

  “What about you?” he asked between bites.

  “Me? I’m just going home for Christmas. That’s all. Nothing exciting. No top secret missions or anything.” Did I sound too obvious? I probably did.

  “No, I mean. What do you do? Back in New York?” He popped the rest of the candy bar into his mouth. It was more than half. He watched me, waiting for my reply while laboring to chew the huge bite of peanuts, chocolate and nougat.

  My brother liked to warn me not to give people too much information. Part of it was a little excessive even for a celebrity. But part of it was founded in the very real fear someone might try to take advantage of me again. So I went with vague.

  “I’m a student.”

  I didn’t say I studied classical piano at Juilliard, nor that just the night before I played a private concert for the Governor of New York and several senators. That was why I had to cut my trip so close to Christmas.

  I scratched Reeses, trying to think of a way to change the subject before Wyatt could swallow that big chunk of chocolate.

  “I have a dog back home. In California.”

  His brows raised.

  “Lady. She’s an English Cocker.”

  Technically Lady was my brother’s dog but she was just as devoted to me. She was the best dog in the world. I ran my finger on Reeses’ snout. “I think Reeses will like her.”

  Wyatt smiled, his teeth covered in chocolate. “If she’s as sweet as her human, he won’t be able to resist her.”

  CHAPTER NINE - GEORGIA

  I had a headache, there was distinct jabby feeling in my back, and my neck was so stiff I thought my head would snap off. Ah, the joyous pleasure of sleeping in a car.

  I’d dozed off after a long, easy conversation with Wyatt. He had a lot of fun stories growing up in a large family. He reminisced about summers spent entirely in swim trunks eating apricots straight from the tree. And about the rope swing his grandfather tied on the branch of a sturdy oak in their yard. How he’d swing and swing for hou
rs pretending to be a superhero, pushing off from the trunk to spin in wide circles. It seemed like a beautifully simple childhood. So different from mine. A whole other planet than the stark realities of Tinseltown, growing up the daughter and sister of two huge film stars. The busy schedules, the endless train of people wanting this and that. Superficial friendships. Hired drivers to take me to school. The gold-digging stepmother who singlehandedly sent my dad to an early grave. And the only thing my brother and I had left of our parents—a giant mansion. The big, lonely prison for two when Will shut the world away to protect me.

  I twisted the ring on my finger. One last feeble attempt of my brother to keep the big bad wolf away from his little sister.

  “Rise and shine, Georgia Peach.”

  I looked over to find Wyatt folding those Native American blankets on the hood of the Mustang.

  “Don’t worry. I slept in the backseat. Your honor is intact, milady.”

  “Okay. Thanks?” Funny, the thought never crossed my mind. I opened the car door and crawled out.

  “Oh, and your brother called. I gave him an update and promised I’d get you home for Christmas. He didn’t say much. He’s a man of so few words.”

  “Yeah well, consider it a blessing.”

  Wyatt stepped towards me, inching ever so close. The only thing separating his body from mine was the car door. His eyes took me in, the disheveled mess I was, wild hair and morning breath included. I covered my mouth and stepped back.

  “May I?” He inclined his head, holding out a hand for the blankets I used.

  “Oh. Sure.” Derp. I handed him the blankets and he bounced back to his folding spot, whistling a happy working tune.

  “Are you always this chipper in the morning?”

  He flashed me a dazzling smile. “Ya know, I slept really well. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in forever. Maybe since I moved to New York.”

  He went back to his folding, resuming his whistle song. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and twisted my neck around.

  “You must have the most uncomfortable bed in the world if the backseat of a car is an improvement.”

  “It’s the noise. I just never got used to it.”

  He finished his folding and skipped along to the trunk to put them away. I went to the office where we’d left our bags, fished out my toothbrush and braved the scary bathroom, keeping the door cracked just a hair. Getting trapped in this bathroom was not the way I’d like to start my morning.

  A short while later the mechanic arrived bearing two steamy coffee cups and a paper lunch bag. He had a rueful expression.

  “My wife chewed me out last night.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “Did you miss the pageant?”

  “Oh, I got to the pageant on time. But later last night I told her about you guys staying here in the garage and she about flipped.”

  Wyatt shoved his hands in his jeans. “Sorry, man. We didn’t mean to intrude—”

  “She was so darn ticked off I didn’t invite you to stay at our house. I can’t figure her out. She practically carved me a new one the last time I had people over. I vowed never again. Then she pulls this guilt trip on me.”

  “Well, she’ll be glad to learn Wyatt here slept like a baby, so no harm done.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded with a sense of relief. “I’ll let her know you said that.” He blew out a sigh. “Whew. Pregnancy hormones.”

  Wyatt brightened at that. “Wow, another baby? I...I mean I saw the picture on your desk.”

  “Yup. Number four and counting.”

  “Awesome. I’m the oldest of six.”

  The mechanic’s brows shot to his hairline. “Ya don’t say.”

  Wyatt nodded proudly.

  “Anyway,” the mechanic gave the paper bag and coffee cups to Wyatt. “My wife made you her famous breakfast burritos. Her secret is the kielbasa sausages.”

  That sounded divine but I was definitely going on a pork fast after today.

  “Thanks Claudio.” I gave him a little hug and went off to zip my new moccasins in my suitcase. I’d left a couple of Benjamins and a note in the trunk of the Mustang, making sure Wyatt packed his moccasins, too.

  After we said goodbye at the bus station, Wyatt shook his head at me. “What gave you the idea his name was Claudio? Or even Franz for that matter?”

  “Just a guess. I didn’t want to be rude and call him Hey You.”

  “I told you it’s Al. His name patch, the sign on the auto shop, even the side of his truck says Al.”

  I blinked at him. “I thought that was the name of the town.”

  “Al, Nebraska? Really?”

  A moment passed where I bat my eyes at Wyatt innocently and he gave me the I don’t buy it glare.

  “Okay.” I caved. “The truth is, I’m terrible with names. So I make stuff up.”

  “Seriously? Al has to be the easiest name in the world. There’s only two letters.”

  “Yeah, well.” I shrugged. Surely I wasn’t the only one who did that. Wasn’t that normal? “I like to use first names of famous composers. Franz Liszt, Claudio Monteverdi, etcetera. It’s usually only in my head, though.”

  The corner of Wyatt’s mouth curled up.

  “So what name did you give me?” he asked, eyes twinkling. It was the gold flecks catching the sunlight, probably.

  “Wolfgang.”

  He nodded, letting that thought bounce around a bit. “Okay. I’m gonna go get the bus tickets. What was the town we need to go to?”

  “Avery?”

  “Right. Avery. You remember that.”

  I smiled proudly. “Oswald Theodore Avery. He’s a founding father. Of course I remember that.”

  “Yeeeaaah. I’ll be right back.”

  He took off, leaving Reeses with me, and returned a few minutes later, still laughing under his breath. “Wolfgang. Funny.”

  If you say so, buddy.

  “I’m not gonna call you Wolfie if thats what you’re thinking. Wyatt is much more interesting.”

  He gave me the side-eye. “Not sure if that’s a compliment, but thanks.”

  He sipped the last of his coffee and winked. There was something refreshing about him. Perhaps it was his casual charm or the way his flyaway hair caught the sunlight, framing his face with an angelic glow. He was raggedy but confident in his own unique way. And that dimple. Oof.

  A cloud of smoke billowed onto the bus platform. Down the way, an old monstrosity of a bus squeaked to a stop with a booming hiss, belching diesel exhaust. Large patches of rust covered most of the roof, corroding its way along the sides where the faded paint once displayed a patriotic red white and blue wave. Passengers piled on through both doors, carrying all sorts of parcels and bags. They certainly weren’t wasting any time.

  “Surely that’s not our bus.”

  Wyatt smirked at me. “How much do you wanna bet?”

  The driver came around the front and manually changed the destination sign to Avery.

  “Oh, you gotta be kidding.”

  Wyatt tossed his coffee cup in the trash and laughed. “Come on before all the good seats are taken.”

  By the time we filed in behind half the population of Nebraska and all their cousins, Wyatt and I couldn’t sit together. It shouldn’t have made a difference to me but it did for some unexplainable reason. The lady occupying the seat next to me held a chicken on her lap. Wyatt had Reeses in that mesh travel bag and had to stand near the back. He had all his bags and the dog and held on tight to the metal bar while the bus lurched forward. I tried to take Reeses at one point but the chicken wasn’t having it, batting its feathers, clucking like a maniac. It was inside a cage, but seemed to smell my fear, those beady eyes staring me down.

  Yes, as a matter of fact I did have eggs for breakfast, Chickaletta.

  The bus rambled along the highway, clattering with a thunderous roar. One of the windows not too far from me was stuck open, poorly remedied by a square of cardboard and some duct tape. The
cold air still seeped through. Among the cornucopia of smells, even rising above the lovely aromatic sulfur of the diesel engine, was the arresting odor of farm animal. Probably goat. I didn’t see any goats, nor did I hear the bleats of a goat, but there was definitely a goat the bus.

  I looked over at Wyatt. He threw me a silly grin trying to keep his balance. Admittedly, this chicken bus had certain advantages over New York’s transportation system. The absence of mysterious sticky pee smelling blotches for starters.

  And really, things weren’t so terribly bad. I had a belly full of kielbasa burrito, we were on our way to Avery, it was two days til Christmas, and there was still a chance I’d make it to California by midnight if I could only get to an airport.

  An elderly man with a long wiry beard made his way down the aisle at a slow pace, checking tickets. He wore a red tartan trapper hat and had a flush of pink on the end of his nose. He reminded me of a skinny corn-fed and wrinkly Santa Claus. Thirty-five minutes in and he was just now taking tickets. I wondered what he would do if there were any drifters on board. Halt the bus and throw them in the snow?

  He approached, took the ticket from Chicken Lady and made a little rip before handing it back. Then he held out his hand to me without even making eye contact.