“Harris?” I asked.
“It’s an island in Scotland. I can text you the details.” His phone buzzed impatiently, someone calling him. “I’ve got to run.” He brought his hand to my jaw and leaned forward, but just as his lips were about to touch mine, he stopped and pulled back with a grin. He grabbed the coffee I’d made him and headed for the door. “See you.”
A week later, I drove a battered old rental car along a dirt road in Scotland, hunting for the cabin that Jacob had described in his text as “really fucking hard to find.” His friends had left the day before, and the whole flight from Glasgow to Stornoway I’d worried I’d made a huge mistake. It was the F1 summer holidays—no press, no obligations for an entire month—and I usually spent it at my house in London, walking dogs from the animal shelter up the street and doing some extra training. When I’d booked the flight to Scotland, my heart had been going about one-eighty. I couldn’t believe I was committing to seeing Jacob again. I was afraid of what would happen if it got out, but even more than that, I was afraid of spending a prolonged stretch of time with him.
My whole life, I’d been sort of a loner. It’s a strange thing to say, because looking from the outside, I’m sure it didn’t seem that way. Racing is not a solitary sport, and I was constantly surrounded by people. There was my awful trainer, Brian; my manager, Aaron, who managed my contracts and sponsorships; all the mechanics and engineers and social media managers and press people at Harper, not to mention the constant presence of fans, many of whom had no qualms about throwing an arm around me in the paddock and pushing a camera into my face. But I didn’t have much in the way of friends. I was burned a few times in my early racing years, friendly chitchat with people around track turning into pushy requests for free race tickets or publicityappearances—or, in one particularly irritating case, a bald-faced request for money. I grew to be more cautious, and in doing so, created a layer of distance between myself and the people around me. And maybe it sounds a bit sad, but if I’m being honest, I never really felt like I missed out. As long as I could race, I had everything I needed.
Still, when I finally pulled into the driveway of the cabin Jacob had rented, I was uncomfortably aware of my own isolation. I wished I knew what to expect, if we were supposed to spend all our time together, or go out together, or what.
The cabin was large and rustic-looking, nestled in the foothills of a mountain and completely isolated from any other buildings. It was late afternoon when I arrived, and the crisp, cool air smelled like burning wood. I could hear a fire crackling somewhere behind the house, and Jacob emerged from the side of the building wearing jeans, sneakers, a gray sweater, and a flannel jacket. His face split into a grin when he saw me, and I think right there and then he had me for good.
“You found it,” he said, smiling at me from twenty feet away. “Throw your things inside and come around back, I’ve got a fire going.”
Inside, the cabin was old-fashioned but inviting, with plaid blankets thrown over squashy couches, thick rugs underfoot, and about a million potted plants. I put my bag by the kitchen table, taking note of the half-empty bottles of liquor on the countertop. There was a deck of playing cards strewn over the coffee table and a dartboard that looked well used. Jacob and his friends must’ve spent the whole week partying.
In the back of the house, there was a fire roaring in a huge fire pit. The sunlight was bleeding away rapidly and fireflies were zipping around, drawing little lines of light in the night sky.
Jacob had a beer in hand and was poking at the fire with a stick, I think for no other reason than to make little bursts of sparks jump into the air. He glanced over his shoulder as I stepped out of the house, and I saw the corner of his smile.
“I’ll admit it, you’ve impressed me again,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d show.”
My cheeks were red as I stepped closer to the fire. “Yeah, well,” I said, because apparently that was the best I could come up with. I bit my lip and tried again. “Did you have a good week with your friends?”
He grinned, like he knew how much effort it took me to get the question out. “Yeah, this place is awesome. There’s a beach a little ways up the road and some crazy hikes up the mountain. We can do some of them while you’re here, if you want.”
A little spark of excitement leapt inside my chest. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”
He watched me for a second and then laughed and shook me by the arm. “Relax, Keeping. This is going to be fun.”
I cleared my throat. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, grinning. “I think it’s cute, how weird you are. You want a beer or something? There’s stuff in that cooler.”
I grabbed a soda, and he settled into a chair by the fire, motioning absently for me to do the same. We talked about racing for a while—he must’ve known it was the easiest thing for me to talk about—then he asked what my summer plans were.
I shrugged. “Nothing really. Training.”
He laughed. “Doesn’t that defeat the very purpose of a break? Don’t you have plans with family or anything?”
“No.” I hesitated, then added, “I don’t really have any family.”
He frowned. “What about your parents?”
“My mom died of leukemia when I was a baby,” I said. “And my dad had a heart attack a few years back.”
He winced. “Shit, I remember reading something about that. Sorry. That was before you started F1, wasn’t it?”
“Mm. A few months before.”
“Fuck. That sucks. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I said automatically. Then, when he made a doubtful face, “I mean, it sucked, yeah. I miss him.” I fiddled with my soda can for a moment. “I don’t know. It happens.”
He tilted his head. “What’d you mean?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Plenty of people have lost a parent, right?”
Something in his face changed, then, and I felt a rush of nerves, certain I’d said the wrong thing. But it was true, wasn’t it? Most people lose their parents in their lifetime. It’s not like what happened to me was unique. It’s what I told myself after my dad died. It was natural to be sad, natural to miss him, but throwing myself a pity party wouldn’t do anything to change it.
