His Adam's apple bobs while he sips his coffee, completely not paying attention to my gawking, thank god. His neck skin is tinged pink from the heat of the diner, or from the cold of the outside. I look away quickly, but before I can stop myself, like a greedy little kid stealing an extra cookie out of the jar, or a marshmallow from the bag, I look at his face.
He’s so handsome it hurts.
I want to squeal and bury my face in my jacket, he’s so pretty. This is the first time I’ve looked at him without him scowling at me or bossing me around. His eyes are so brown. They’re like perfectly round, exquisite chocolate truffles and it takes everything in me not to open my mouth to compliment them.
His eyes are tracking his phone screen from left to right, and I see the reflection of a news article in his square glasses. I’m trying to read the reflection when he breaks the pattern, shifting his eyes to meet my own.
“What?” He asks, his voice stern.
“Nothing,” I say, stunned like a little kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
He places his phone face down on the table. “So, what’s your plan here, exactly?” Way to get straight to the point. My face turns red, darker than the red of the booths. I’m perpetually embarrassed around this man.
“What plan?” Maybe I can play it dumb and he won’t make me say it aloud.
“The whole plan about road tripping to dive bars.” He drums his longer fingers on the table.
“Oh, yeah, that plan.”
“Do you even have a license?” He looks at me expectantly, but like he already knows the answer.
“Yes, but I think it’s expired,” I admit. My plan is falling apart at the seams. I’m a smart person, I don’t know how I thought this would end. “I’m deluded,” I say aloud.
“You know you can’t rent a car without a license. The laws still apply even here in Vacationland.” Dean gulps down half of his glass of water, as if he isn’t the nervous one. “I might have a proposition for you then.”
“What?” I clasp my hands together, anxious for what he might say.
“I’ll drive you. But on the condition that you pay for all of the gas, pay my hourly wage for the work that I’m missing, and that we go to Allagash by next Sunday. And then we drive home in one shot.” I’m considering it because it’s an exceptional deal for me.
“What’s in Allagash?” I ask. It’s a tiny town near the Canadian border, not big, but with amazing views of rolling hills, wide open plains and the Allagash waterway.
“My mother’s house.” Something flickers in his eyes that tells me not to ask unnecessary questions. Allagash is certainly not on the route, but if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be. And I wouldn’t be alone.
“How much do you get paid an hour?”
“$45.” He says flatly. “I take Zelle or cash.” I think I could swing it if I sell one of Andy’s guitars.
“Fine.”
“You have a deal.”
Our food arrives shortly after. Dean slices his pancakes into four equal parts, and pours syrup on the side. I pick at my food.
“When is the next concert?” Dean asks me.
“Tuesday.”
“What were you going to do all day today then?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth so I don’t have to answer his questions.
“Where's the concert?” He flips over his phone, and opens the maps app.
“The Monarch Resort in Camden,” I answer. I pull out a small sheet of notebook paper with my notes of my trip written on it.
“The Waverly Inn, Kennebunkport. The Monarch Resort, Camden. The Pic–a-Lilli Pub, Caribou. The Belladonna, St. Agatha.” Dean reads my handwriting aloud. He plugs it into the GPS, and a suggested route pops up.
“That’s not that far. Only about an hour and a half. Do you have a room to stay in booked?”
