Finally embracing the journey, apologizing to Daphne, even the antique store and the lemonade stand were good.
But the road construction?
It’s putting us behind schedule, and I’m tightening up again. Once we finally make it to the other side, after well over an hour of Daphne challenging me to an alphabet game, then a sing-off, all while switching the temperature in the car to mess with me—or more likely distract me—we can’t keep flying down the road because now we need gas.
Miles2Go is the only option.
Fantastic.
“Their Lava Cheese Puffs are better than the Flaming Finger Lickies,” Daphne tells me as she pulls up to the pump. “And you haven’t lived until you’ve had a cherry Landslide.”
She’s been grabbing at her neck half the morning, and she does it once again as she unbuckles.
Because she’s been sleeping on floors and couches, dumbass, a little voice in the back of my brain says loud enough for me to hear over my irritation at how far behind schedule we are now.
“I’ll pump,” I tell her as we both climb out of the car.
“Cool. I’ll go pay. You want a Landslide? I’d offer you a corn dog, but they’re seriously awful. Plus, Bea made corn dogs last week, and there’szerochance I’m ruining the memory of her corn dog by eating one of M2G’s monstrosities.”
Bea. That’s who she was talking to Monday night. I remember her saying the name.
“She makes good corn dogs?” I ask.
She grins at me over the car. “Almost as good as today’s donuts.”
Not thinking about the donut.Notthinking about the donut. Or how she ate it. The way her eyes slid shut. The length of her neck when she tilted her head back. The—stop thinking about the donut.
“Do you need money?”
“Nope. Still have about seven hundred from what I snuck out of your suitcase the other day.”
I’m too twitchy already to care.
I stretch, breathe, turn in a slow circle, and—there.
There it is again.
One of my butterfly gardens at the side of the parking lot, the wildflowers healthy and bright with their multicolored blooms over dark green stalks.
A slice of paradise at a gas station that has my shoulders relaxing a little more on their own.
Good job, I tell myself.
Fuck knows my father wouldn’t.
You don’t get credit for doing what’s expected.
And if the board’s recommendation for the new CEO doesn’t go my way in two weeks—and I don’t meanmy wayas in still being CEO, I meanmy wayas in the board supporting my executive assistant for the role because she’s earned it—if they give my father another shot at running the company, he’ll probably end the program.
Probably do something stupid like start charging for the electric charging stations too.
Every store in the nation—every last one—saw a rise in profits from products inside the convenience stores. Because people spend money while they’re waiting for their electric vehicles to charge, and none of our competitors saw an advantage to offering the service for free so we currently have a large advantage with electric car owners.
But dear ol’ dad would probably change that too. Assume they’ll stick with us when he makes them pay.
That has my hands clenching inside my pockets.
“All good to fill her up,” Daphne calls to me from the door.
