“Good morning, Seth,” I say.
He presses his lips together and gives me a quick upward nod. Then, without a word, he crouches to collect the mouse pieces, movements efficient and a little sharp. He snaps the batteries into place and hands the mouse to Logan.
“You off to do a tour this morning?” I ask to break the tension.
“Yeah.” He presses his lips together, like he wants to say more.
My phone rings, and I want to kiss my mechanic for saving me from this awkward scenario. “Sam!” I answer as I escape to the kitchen. “Did you get my deposit for the engine parts? I sent it earlier this week.”
“Yep! That’s what I’m calling about,” he confirms. “All the parts came in, and I should be done in about a week.”
I fiddle with the dial on the toaster oven. “I won’t have the rest of your money for another three weeks,” I admit.
“I can hold it for you,” he says. “Not a problem.”
I thank him and hang up. When I return to the living room, Logan is alone. His face is dark, brooding over Seth’s behavior, the reminder that I’m leaving in a few weeks, or who knows what else.
Right. Time to change tracks.
I clap my hands together. “I have a great marketing idea,” I say. “Let’s hang flyers around the Arizona State University campus. Futon Drift is really popular with college kids, and we might be able to land some more poetry participants.”
Logan frowns. “That’s a several-hour drive there and back.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be gone all day.”
I laugh at his dour, put-out tone. “No, silly. We should go together.”
Logan hesitates.
“You have no tours today anyway. It’ll be fun. A road trip. When’s the last time you’ve taken a road trip?”
“Never,” Logan mutters.
“Never! That settles it. Let’s go!” To my surprise, Logan doesn’t protest or argue. We pull on our shoes, fill up ourwater bottles for necessary road-trip hydration, and head out into the bright sunlight.
“I’ll drive!” I jokingly shove him toward the passenger side of the truck. “I’ve been wanting to drive this monster for a while.”
Logan holds up his hands in surrender and climbs into the passenger seat. “How is this any different than your hulking van?”
“She’s not hulking. Ladies don’t hulk,” I say as I start messing with the seat and mirrors. “Anyway, Clunker is sensitive. She requires a gentle touch. This beast looks like it needs some manhandling. I enjoy a little manhandling now and again.”
“Giving or receiving?” Logan asks, brushing a light hand over my thigh.
I give him a wink. He always blushes when I do, and it’s too much fun. “Both.”
The truck gives a loud purr when I start the ignition. I squirm in my seat where I can feel the vibrations quivering underneath me. “Okay, oversized truck. I’m a convert.”
Logan turns on the music, and a pensive-sounding guitar thrum fills the cab.
“Nuh uh. None of that moody stuff,” I say, skimming through the playlist options. “We’re going on a road trip! We need something to match that energy.”
We bicker for a moment until we compromise on an indie pop list, and then we’re off.
It doesn’t take too long to reach the edge of Phoenix, but then we keep driving…and driving. “Jesus, you forget how massive this city is until you have to cross it,” I say. “How long have we been driving? An hour?”
“Urban sprawl at its finest,” Logan says. He twists the dialfor the air conditioning, and the cool air rushes toward my face.
