“Well, kayaking is something I definitely prefer to do when it’s a little nicer outside, and I’m guessing you’ll be gone by spring . . .” His voice trails off, but his smile lingers on me.
I sigh, adding another inhale afterwards, bringing in enough cool air to relax me even more. “I don’t know where I’ll be this spring,” I answer truthfully. We cross the street where he leads me to his truck parked right outside the coffee shop. It’s so easy to get around here, and there’s virtually no traffic since everything is within walking distance. It’s the opposite of Boston. The air is so fresh and clean here, it’s impossible not to take deep breaths. “I can’t get over how cute this town is.”
“Like I said before, it’s the perfect town for me.” He opens my door, and I hop in while he walks to the other side and gets in. Once inside, he starts the truck and backs up before picking up our conversation. “So, the same question to you.” He nudges my elbow with his. The gentle sign of affection just gets me. I’ve always been a sucker for the little touches. “What are your hobbies?”
“I like to go out.” I stare out the window, watching the cobblestone roads turn to gravel as he winds his way around the outskirts of town and heads to the mountains. I don’t tell him that in the last year I’ve only been out with Tom, and I’ve done a terrible job of keeping friendships.
“Is that all?”
“Ah, family is a big deal to me. My brother, Christian, and I are close, and . . . I love music.”
“What kind of music do you listen to?”
My gaze is still glued to the scenic drive. Since arriving in Mapleton, I’ve only seen the coffee shop and the lodge. It’s breathtaking to see the mountains get closer and closer over the horizon. “Anything really, but I’m a sucker for the oldies, like from the sixties or seventies.”
“For a second there, I thought you’d say oldies from the nineties, and I was going to stop you because that’s my era. I grew up with that stuff.”
I chuckle, sneaking a look at him. “Yeah, I think the nineties is old too, considering I was born in 2003, but I never really got into that decade. There’s so much aggression.”
“Not all of it.” His lips pull to the side as if in a thinking stance. “The nineties also had great ballads. I mean, Celine Dion and Whitney Houston, Boyz II Men, all of that was the nineties.”
“Yeah, I see what you’re saying.” I stuff my hands in my coat pockets as a cold shudder moves through me.
“Are you cold?” He immediately turns the knobs on the heater, cranking it up.
“Thank you.” I look up at him, feeling our magnetism growing even stronger. “This is nice.”
“Are you still feeling okay?”
“I feel great.”
He slows to take a sharp bend in the road, and a vibration tickles my fingertips. My memory is instantly jogged. I was enjoying my date so much I forgot about the final battle round! I whip my phone out of my pocket, and my chest is filled with dread.
I need to sing now!
Five hundred dollars that I could use is on the line. It won’t make me rich, but it will help with all the lost wages.
Christian always teases me about how competitive I am. I never really realized it until now. He’s so right. I have this burning in my core that says I can’t quit now. If I forfeit thenmy entire day’s work will be lost, and I’m so close to being the ultimate champion. My hand finds the door handle, and I shoot a strained expression to Stallone. “Ah, maybe I need some air. Do you mind pulling over for a second?”
“Here?” One of his brows rises above the other as he steers the truck around the bend. “I can’t pull over here, because it’s too dangerous. Can you roll down the window until I can get to a better spot?”
My phone vibrates again, indicating my genre was named, and I drop my gaze to my lap.
Genre: Nineties
“Stupid nineties,” I mutter, now afraid the app was listening to my earlier conversation. It had to be spying.There’s no way that wasn’t a coincidence.
“What did you say?” Now around the bend, Stallone slows the truck and pulls over to the soft dirt shoulder.
“Nothing,” I assert louder, my fingers itching to open the door. If my calculations are correct, I only have about a minute before my song starts. A row of thick evergreen trees lines the ditch, and they’ll be perfect to tuck behind. I need to runnow.“You can stop right here. That’s fine.”
“Can I help you at all or—”
“Nope.” I shove the door open, and drop to the ground, calling back, “I just need three minutes.” I dart forward, but the ground is soft and muddy, and I cannot get my footing. I slip and slide all the way to the tree. Once behind it, I whip my phone out and stare.
Song selection: “Truly Madly Deeply”
What kind of song is that?
