“I’m surprised Celeste didn’t come out to say goodbye,” Miles finally says, breaking the silence. “I figured she’d be arming you with all kinds of grandmotherly advice like ‘Don’t talk to strangers’ and ‘Check in daily.’”
I take a second to process his words—so at odds with my own scattered thoughts—and glance over at him. “Are we talking about the same Celeste?”
He chuckles, the low rumble vibrating between us. “Fair point.”
“We said our goodbyes last night.” I shrug, pressing down on the accelerator and setting the cruise control. According to the GPS, we’ll be on this road for a few hours, and already I’m finding it hard to maintain my speed with the weight of the trailer. So much for my careful packing efforts. “She told me to have grand adventures and encouraged me to talk to everyone I meet.” I smile and repeat her words. “Everyone has a story to tell.”
Gran believes it wholeheartedly. Which I’m sure has nothing to do with the fact that she and my grandfather spent a decade living in the Airstream, dragging my mother all over the country long before tiny living was popular.
“I see brains run in the family,” Miles says, shifting the coffee carrier in his lap.
It’s supposed to be a compliment, but I’m far from flattered. After all, when was the last time he looked at a woman because he was attracted to her brain? Oh, sure, he enjoys having a smart, malleable assistant, but, like the rest of the world with their photoshopped social feeds, beauty comes first if his string of one-night stands is any indication.
Frustration wells up like a flash flood, but I swallow it down.
The whole point of this trip is to use my own socials to prove that you don’t have to be gorgeous or airbrushed or famous for being famous to be special. To have something worth sharing and to make meaningful connections. To chase your dreams and live your best life.
Fan-freaking-tastic. Now my inner monologue has gone full-on motivational poster.
Nothing worth having comes easy.
If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change y—
“Lucy?” Miles shoots me a quizzical look, and it’s clear this isn’t the first time he’s said my name.
“Sorry.” I give my head a little shake, attempting to clear my muddled thoughts. “What were you saying?”
“How do you take your coffee?” He pops the top off one of the cardboard cups. “I couldn’t remember if you took cream and sugar, so I got both.”
It takes all my self-control not to roll my eyes. Of course he doesn’t know how I like my coffee, because despite his warm, charismatic personality, he only ever skims the surface. He never allows himself to go any deeper. The man may have a big heart, but he’s as shallow as a puddle.
“One cream and one sugar.”
He prepares mine first and passes it over before setting to work on his own.
I hold the wheel with one hand and use the other to lift the cup to my lips. The coffee is lukewarm, but that only makes it go down faster. I’d planned to skip my morning coffee on travel days because I have the world’s smallest bladder, but as my frayed nerves settle, I’m rethinking that foolishness.
“So, where are we headed?” Miles pauses with his cup halfway to his mouth. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“Of course I have a plan.” One that might require some tweaking if I’m going to win this bet. “Having second thoughts already? It’s not too late to turn back.”
“You wish.” He grins, looking far too amused. “I just want to plan out my days.”
And pigs just want to fly.
“Perhaps you should have thought of thatbeforeyou crashed my road trip.”
He sips his coffee, seemingly unaffected.
“Okay.” I drop my cup into the cupholder. “You’re here because you want me to help you get your life back in order, right? Well, tip number one is look before you leap.”
“Duly noted.” He nods sagely, as if truly considering the suggestion, even though we both know he isn’t. Not really. “Now that we’ve gotten the first lesson out of the way, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“If you must know, we’re going to Chicago. It’s a two-day drive, so you might as well relax and enjoy the scenery.” I glance over just in time to see a flicker of excitement in his eyes before I continue. “Then we’ll pick up Route 66 and head west. It should take us about two weeks to reach the end of the line at the Santa Monica Pier.”
“Are you shitting me?” He straightens. “We’re driving from Texas to Chicago and back again? What sense does that even make?”
None, but flying to Chicago and renting an RV would make even less sense, since Gran is letting me borrow the Airstream. It might be an antique, but it’s free.
