Hold up.
I, Charles Owen Frederick Thorpe IV, made a Lord of the Rings reference.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror to make sure I still recognize myself. Same face. Same hair, albeit slightly more disheveled than usual.
Very different thoughts.
I still can’t believe how open I was with her. I talked about my parents, my career, my feelings. This isn’t me.
What have I done to myself? What has Cricket done to me?
If I’m being honest, though, I like who I am when I’m with her. It’s a scary realization that makes me deeply uncomfortable. When my phone buzzes, I answer it without looking, grateful for a distraction from my confusing thoughts.
“Hey, buddy. How’s Nerds ‘R Us?”
I shrink inside at the sound of Matt’s voice. “Going great. What’s up?”
“Wondering whether you’ve sealed the deal yet.”
“Not yet, but I’m close,” I lie. No way am I giving Matt Lyman an inch.
“Then I guess that means you won’t make it to the charity auction tonight.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I forgot all about the event. People from LandStar will be there, as well as other clients. Clients who Matt will not hesitate to schmooze in my absence.
“I guess I’ll have to miss out,” I hear myself say. “Say hello to Riggieri for me.”
“No problem. Enjoy the rustic lifestyle. Hope those Gucci loafers can withstand the dirt.”
“They’re holding up. I’ll see you next week.” I hang up before I have to listen to his voice one more time. The thought of being back in the office with Lyman and everybody else … It seems like a galaxy far, far away.
Damn. The campers have infected me with their love of pop culture. Soon I’ll be collecting bobbleheads and sticking them on Hugo’s dashboard.
I search for the nearest hardware store and grab my wallet. Cricket intercepts me in the parking lot as I’m reversing out of my spot.
I roll down the passenger window. “Hey.”
“Hey. Where are you off to?”
“There’s a hardware store a couple miles away. Thought I’d buy a space heater for my cabin to try to dry it out.”
“Good idea. You drive. I’ll buy.” She slides into the passenger seat before I can object.
“It’s my cabin. I’ll buy the heater.”
She folds her arms. “It’s my camp. I can buy the heater.”
It feels like we’re on a first date arguing over who pays the check.
I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. “We can split it.”
Her silence seems like acquiescence.
“Hugo handles well,” she remarks once we’re cruising along the country roads. It’s a beautiful day, with sun-dappled trees and a bright blue sky. A stark change from yesterday.
“Does this mean you no longer think of my car as a douchemobile?”
She pats the dashboard. “He’s growing on me.”
