CALLIOPE
I was officially done with this truck.
I eyed the embankment, contemplating letting it accidentally roll over the side of it and it “accidentally” get totaled, but that wasn’t something I wanted to deal with right now.
I wanted to be at home, in my warm bed, where I could eat all the cookies.
Speaking of cookies.
My phone rang, and I answered it with a smile on my face. “Hey, Mr. Winthrop!”
“Darling girl,” he said. “I have your cookies ready to go.”
I winced. “Shoot. I’m so sorry, but I’m going to be late. I had a friend who needed me, so I had to drive to Paris to help.” I looked at my stupid truck’s hood where it was sitting facing the road that would lead me home. “And my truck broke down.”
“I do hope that you mean Paris, Texas, and not Paris, France,” he teased.
“Oh, I definitely mean Paris, Texas.” I giggled, even though it was halfhearted at best. “I can be there in about two and a half hours, though. Is that okay?”
Maybe.
If I could ask a certain someone for a ride.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I have nothing else to do today. I’m on my own now.”
I instantly felt horrible. “That sucks. Do you want to come to a biker party?”
I was sure the guys wouldn’t care.
Plus, he was pretty awesome and each and every time I’d talked to him over the last few weeks, I’d learned that I liked the man he was.
“Oh.” He paused. “Well…” He hesitated. “Do you think that they would mind? I could bring extra cookies as a thank you.”
I snorted. “Those men will eat everything you have to offer. And, honestly, they’re the ‘more the merrier’ type. They like all the people.”
I got out of the truck on the side of the road—I hadn’t even made it a half a mile down from the hospital before it’d broken down—and threw the door closed. I didn’t bother locking it.
Maybe someone would steal it and do me a freakin’ favor.
“Where do I go?” he asked.
I gave him the address of the party and hoped that everyone would be okay with him being there.
If they weren’t, I’d beat them all up.
I started walking back to the hospital as Mr. Winthrop and I discussed what else he should bring. It took me a while to get him to agree to just bring the cookies with him to the party tonight.
We hung up with him sounding overly excited, and me being a little bit happier that I’d invited him.
That happiness dissolved as a cold blast of wind slammed into me.
I shivered, wishing that I’d remembered a coat, and marched on, angry with myself for falling for the salesman’s pitch on ‘this will be the greatest truck ever.’
Bull shit.
This was the worst truck ever, and it was causing me to have heartburn.
I shouldn’t have heartburn over a new damn truck with less than six thousand miles on it.
