by T. K. Leigh
“Absolutely. For example, your hair.”
I sit upright, uncrossing my arms. “What about my hair?”
“You always wear it back. Pulled away from your face. Not a single strand out of place. A place for everything and everything in its place. I might be wrong, but I get the feeling it’s a mask.”
“Masks are worn on the face,” I remind him, trying to hide any unease filling me from his assessment.
“Not all of them. Some people use everything at their disposal to hide who they are. Hair. Makeup. Clothes. It’s all a front so people think you’re happy when, in reality, nothing could be further from the truth.” He arches a single brow, holding my gaze before returning his attention to the road. “So tell me, gorgeous. Why would you rather lose your ability to hear?” he presses on, as if he didn’t just admit he’s able to peer straight into my soul, into the very fiber of my being.
I gape at him for several long moments, then snap back to the present, answering his question so he won’t read into my reluctance to share this with him.
“I’d hate having only my memories to keep me company. After a while, memories fade, and you’ll soon forget things you once took for granted. After—” I stop abruptly. “Well, I’ve learned that life’s too short to take anything for granted.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Anderson responds softly.
After our conversation last night, I sense he’s dealing with some sort of loss, too. Now, I’m all but certain he is. He understands how frightening it is when, one day, you try to recall something a loved one said but too much time has passed. So you scramble to hold on to everything that’s left, fearful if you don’t, you’ll dishonor their memory.
I think that’s why I attached myself to Jeremy so quickly. He reminded me so much of Hunter, from his appearance, to his love of sports, even to his passion for rock climbing. For the longest time, I was convinced some higher power sent Jeremy to help me heal, that maybe he was the stranger I recognized the psychic told me about all those years ago.
Or maybe I was just desperate to feel loved again that I saw things that weren’t really there.
“How about you?” I ask.
“I’d probably choose the same. While not being able to hear someone’s voice or listen to music would be difficult, I’d hate being unable to appreciate the beauty surrounding me.” He floats his gaze to me, the way he seems to strip me of everything I’ve held dear invigorating yet frightening at the same time. I’ve only known this man twenty-four hours, yet he sees me. Like, really sees me.
“My turn.” I clear my throat, looking away when his stare becomes too intense, too…meaningful. “Would you rather spend the rest of your life living in an extravagant mansion with live-in staff or a tiny home in the middle of nowhere?”
“A tiny home.” His answer comes with little deliberation.
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not. I just figured since you’re so used to having money—”
“Who said I had money?” His tone is even, giving nothing away.
“You did.”
“I did? I don’t—”
“You didn’t come right out and say it, but it’s obvious you’re well-off. Like you said, everything a person says and does can tell you something about them.” I gesture to his wrist. “People living paycheck to paycheck don’t wear Tag Heuer watches.”
He follows my line of sight. “I could have stolen it.”
“But you didn’t.”
He doesn’t immediately say anything, as if weighing his options. Eventually, he relents. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
“So I guess that’s why I assumed you’d go for the extravagant mansion. Figured you’d want to live somewhere with everything you could need to be comfortable. Where you’d be…free.”
“Living in an extravagant mansion doesn’t mean you’ll have everything you need,” he says, his voice distant, almost cold. “Money doesn’t always equate to happiness. And it certainly doesn’t equal freedom. It’s more a prison sentence.”
His last few words are barely audible. I doubt he intended for me to hear them. He appears to speak from a place of familiarity. It makes me wonder who Anderson North truly is.
Suddenly, a loud chiming cuts through, the sound striking against the silence. Apart from following directions, neither one of us has so much as glanced at our phones. We’re back in our bubble where the outside world doesn’t exist. My cell ringing is a reminder it does.
“You should answer that,” Anderson suggests when I don’t immediately reach for my bag. “Might be the car company with good news.”
“Of course.”
Rummaging through my purse, I find my phone, a number I don’t recognize flashing on it. It could be a telemarketer or political call. But my gut tells me it’s not.
I touch the screen. “This is Nora.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Tremblay. This is Tabitha from Easy Rental Car. We spoke earlier.”
“Yes. I remember.” I steal a glimpse at Anderson as he brings both hands to the steering wheel, straightening his spine. He tightens his grip, seeming to focus on the road ahead, but I can tell his attention is on my phone call.
“I have good news. St. Louis had a car returned early. It’s been serviced and is ready for you to pick up.”
“That’s great.” My tone is less than enthusiastic. As much as I want to get on with my journey, my heart deflates at the idea of my time with Anderson coming to an end. Sure, we can plan to meet up along the way, but it won’t be the same. We won’t have this, even though I have no idea what this is. “Thanks for all your help.”
“I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip, and thank you for choosing Easy Rental Car for all your travel needs.”
“Thank you,” I say once more, then end the call.
“They have a car for you,” Anderson states after a beat.
I keep my stare forward. “They do.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow, a forced smile crossing his mouth. “I suppose we should get you to the airport then.”
I nod, the motion subtle. “I suppose we should.”
An unsettling silence falls over the car now that our time together is nearly over, our game of Would You Rather forgotten. It could be because the app directed us to get onto the interstate, an uneasiness filling the atmosphere, both of us preferring the tranquility and slower pace of the back roads.
But even after we’ve crossed the Mississippi River into Missouri and Anderson navigates the Wrangler off the interstate once again, the silent tension still permeates us.
“I’ve got one,” Anderson says as he comes to a stop at a light. The Route 66 app on his phone indicates for him to turn left and head south toward the heart of St. Louis. But a sign for the airport up ahead directs him to get on I-270.
“One…what?” I ask hesitantly.
“Would you rather…”
“Okay…”
“Nora?”
I drift my gaze toward his. He lifts his sunglasses off his face, and I peer into his vibrant blue eyes.
“Would you rather I follow that sign up ahead and drive you to the airport where we’ll part ways, perhaps never to see each other again…”
I swallow hard. “Or?”
A smile pulls on his mouth. “Or do I turn left to stay on Route 66, continuing on this journey together. All the way to the end.”
I blink, chewing on the inside of my cheek. This is crazy. What woman in her right mind would entertain the thought of driving across the country with a stranger?
But is he a stranger? Or is that just something I keep telling myself so I can maintain my distance, despite the tug I feel toward him?
When the sound of honking surrounds us, I snap my head forward, seeing the light has turned green, but Anderson doesn’t move, waiting for my answer.
“Anderson,” I warn, glancing over my shoulder before looking back at him.
“I need an answer, Nora.”
“Just… Go.”
“Not until you tell me which way. Straight or left?”
“I…” I flick my gaze between the sign for the airport and the road to my left.
Hours ago, this would have been an easy decision. I would have taken the path I’d already decided on, nothing able to change my mind.
But spending the day with Anderson has been enjoyable. I haven’t been consumed by my past, wishing things had been different. Haven’t constantly thought about how Hunter would have loved the rundown drive-in, or the covered bridge in Glenarm, or the talkative waitress who served us breakfast this morning, regaling us with stories from the glory days of the Mother Road. Instead, I’ve stayed in the moment. With Anderson. Isn’t that what this trip is supposed to be about? Not only saying goodbye to Hunter, like I should have years ago, but no longer living in the past?
Horns continue to blare, but Anderson pays them no attention, his sole focus on me.
“Nora?”
I part my lips, still torn. Then I spy a lone penny in the cup holder and grab it, chuckling to myself as I stare at Abraham Lincoln’s faded silhouette. I doubt I’ll ever think of the sixteenth president again without being reminded of Anderson.
“What are you doing?”
I flash him a smile. “Flipping a coin.”
“So that’s it? A coin will decide my fate? What happened to having a little faith?”
“Now I’m asking you to have faith in me. Again.”
“But—”
“Heads I stay. Tails I go.”
Cars honk as they pass, some of the drivers flipping us off and shouting, but we ignore it, our bubble protecting us. Briefly closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath, then toss the coin into the air. It only takes a few seconds to fall back into my outstretched hand, but it feels like an eternity.
When I catch it and open my palm to reveal it landed on tails, Anderson’s shoulders fall. With a downcast expression, he shifts into first, about to continue straight.
“Take a left.”
He whips his eyes to mine, confused. “But the coin… I thought you said if it landed on tails you’d go.”
“I did. But I didn’t flip the coin so it could decide for me. I flipped the coin to help me decide.”
He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone I used to know told me to flip a coin when you’re not sure about something. Because while that coin is in the air, you’ll realize what you want.” I beam, more certain about this than anything else in my life recently. “And I really want to stay. With you. Continue toward the right destination.”
He pushes out a relieved breath. When he returns his gaze to mine, his lips curve in the corners. “To the right destination.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nora
“Is this a good spot to stop for the night?” Anderson asks, pulling into the parking lot of a budget hotel somewhere in Missouri.
Anderson and I made the most out of the rest of our afternoon, checking more items off my list. Chain of Rocks Bridge. Ted Drewes Frozen Custard. And we even toured Meramac Caverns, where I sneakily sprinkled more of Hunter’s ashes. He would have been happy if I’d left a part of him by the entrance, which I did, but once we ventured farther into the caverns, I knew Hunter would love the breathtaking view of the natural formations. Anderson sensed it, too, whispering into my ear to leave some there.
“Works for me,” I agree, peering at the three-story brick building.
Easily finding a spot near the entrance, Anderson yanks on the parking brake before jumping out to open my door and help me step down, as he’s done all day. Once I’m out of the Wrangler, he heads to the back and grabs our luggage, mine feminine, his black. I reach for my suitcase, but he keeps it out of my grasp.
“I can carry my bag,” I insist, walking alongside him as he strides through the automatic glass doors and into the lobby.
“I know. But as you noticed earlier, I am a gentleman. At least in public.”
“And in private?” I flirt, batting my lashes.
His eyes skate over me. “All bets are off, gorgeous.”
His seductive tone causes goosebumps to prickle my skin, leaving me a bundle of hormones. All I can do is watch as he walks through the lobby, a debonair smile plastered on his full, kissable lips. This man has serious swagger. I have no idea what his profession is, but I can see him in sales. Or politics. He has this charm that seems to endear everyone to him.
That’s endeared me to him.
A young woman behind the reception desk peeks up when Anderson approaches. Her brow furrows as she squints, a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she studies him. She must feel the same way I did when I first saw him. That he looks familiar. We’ve gotten the same look a few times throughout the day. Some people just have that familiarity about them. He does bear a slight resemblance to Matthew McConaughey with his wayward hair and dazzling smile. But a hot British version.
“Do you have any rooms available?” Anderson asks.
The woman snaps out of her daze, turning her attention to the computer in front of her. “One room?”
“Two rooms,” I say urgently, darting toward the desk. “We need two rooms. Two separate rooms. With a wall and everything.” I reach into my purse and grab my wallet.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m happy to report all our rooms come with walls,” she jokes.
“Do you have any adjoining rooms?” Anderson asks smoothly.
“I believe I do.”
“That’s not necessary,” I insist.
“Why?” He flashes a devious grin as he leans toward me, his voice a husky whisper. “Worried I might overhear you moan my name in your sleep tonight?”
“Absolutely not!” I hold my head high, smoothing my hands down my shirt. Which I worry only draws attention to my chest, so I adjust how it falls on my shoulders instead. Which only serves to cause it to lift around my midsection, revealing my stomach. When Anderson’s stare floats to my exposed skin, I yank down the shirt.
Inhaling a deep breath to settle my nerves, I turn my attention to the clerk, doing my best to ignore Anderson’s looming presence beside me.
“I don’t want to trouble you any more than necessary.”
“It’s no trouble at all. If I can get your IDs and a credit card, I’ll have you on your way… To your adjoining rooms.”
We hand over what she needs and, within a few minutes, step into an elevator. But the tight, enclosed space only serves to amplify every single emotion within me. Nervousness. Agitation. Anxiety. Desire. Lust. Holy crap, the lust coursing through me is enough to make me combust. It didn’t feel like this last night when we rode in an elevator together. Then again, I wasn’t feeling much after drinking all that wine. Not to mention, our rooms weren’t adjoining. The idea of sharing a wall with Anderson has me all out of sorts.
Just when I don’t think I can bear the fever of his stare anymore, the elevator arrives on our floor. I scramble off, walking purposefully down the long corridor.
“I can take that now,” I say once we approach our assigned rooms, reaching for the handle of my suitcase. This time, Anderson allows me to take it.
I bring my keycard up to the door, and it beeps, granting me entry. I turn the knob, then face him, keeping the door propped open with my body.
“Nine o’clock a good time to hit the road tomorrow?” I arch a brow.
“See you then.” With a slight nod that almost resembles a bow, he turns, taking the few steps to his room.
“Hey, Anderson?” I say as he brings his keycard up to his door.
He tilts his head. “Yes?”
“Thank you for today. For offering to drive me.”
“Thanks for accepting.”
I smile, then slip into my room.
“Goddammit!” I scream into the pillow, hoping the aroma of detergent and bleach will cleanse Anderson from my mind.
But it
doesn’t.
Nothing seems to. And I’ve tried. I took a shower. Wrote in my journal. Even attempted to meditate him away. But no matter what I do, I can’t seem to empty my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I see Anderson’s devilish smirk. Inhale the scent of his cologne. Feel the heat of his hands on my skin.
The knowledge he’s just on the other side of this wall doesn’t help, either.
I doubt anything will.
A ding rips through my breakdown, and I shoot upright, glancing at my phone on the nightstand to see a FaceTime call from Chloe.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath.
She’s been texting all day, but I haven’t returned any of her messages, too lost in the moment with Anderson and not wanting any reminder of the world outside our little bubble.
I click the answer button, her face appearing on the screen.
“Where have you been?” Her eyes are fierce as her words come rapidly. “You promised you’d text last night, but you didn’t. Then all my messages today go unanswered. I love you, Nora, but you’re a woman traveling alone. It doesn’t matter that you can probably take any man by the balls. I still worry about you being out there on your own. The least you can do is answer your texts so I don’t wonder if I need to send out a goddamn search party!”
“I’m sorry,” I exhale, a ball of guilt settling in the pit of my stomach. “I didn’t mean for you to worry. I’ve been…busy.”
This catches her attention, and she arches a thin brow. “Busy? Doing what?”
“Driving Route 66.”
She pinches her glossed lips into a tight line, studying me. “And what were you busy doing last night? Surely you’re not driving at night, too.”
I should have known she’d pick up on my evasive answer. A former celebrity news columnist, not much escapes Chloe’s attention. She made a career out of seeing things most people can’t. Which is why it’s impossible to keep secrets from her for too long. She’ll eventually get to the bottom of things. She always does.
“I hung out by the pool.”
“The…pool?” She frowns. “At a roadside motel? That’s not the first place I’d hang out.”