A Cross-Country Christmas(5)

And yeah. Lauren was beautiful.

Not pretentious-beautiful though, the kind of beautiful that was understated. Very little makeup. Long, brunette hair pulled up in a messy bun. She wore leggings and a Rainbow Brite T-shirt that hugged her curves, which he took barely a breath to appreciate.

So, Spencer’s little sister. . . not so little anymore.

A years’ old promise to his best friend interrupted his thoughts. He had no intention of breaking it, either—no matter how curious he was about Lauren.

He slid in behind the steering wheel and watched her heave her suitcase into the back, along with a computer case and another bag. She pulled down the hatch and paused outside—in the side mirror he saw her put her hand to her head as if to say, ‘what am I doing?!’—and then she opened the passenger door and buckled herself in. She set her purse on her lap and fished out a piece of paper.

“I mapped out the fastest way from here to Chicago. If we take minimal stops and take turns driving, we can probably make it in three days. I also made a list of several hotels along the way and called to confirm that they had two rooms available so we don’t, you know, have to share.”

She said it like the thought disgusted her. He frowned.

She opened the GPS on her phone and started clicking around. “We can use my phone for GPS if you want, but I do have an audio book and three podcasts I’m planning to listen to, so would it be better if I plugged the details into yours?” She glanced up at him and her expression changed. “What?”

Start tap-dancing, buddy.

“Did your brother tell you anything about this trip?”

“He told me you were driving back to Illinois for Christmas, and I could get a ride with you.”

“Yes. . .” he said, slowly, “that’s true. . .” He paused. “But I’ve already got a route planned.”

She shifted in her seat to turn toward him. “Really.”

“Yes. It’s going to take seven days.”

Her face looked like when the dentist tells you that you have three cavities and open up because they all need to be drilled immediately.

“Seven days?” She practically shrieked. “What? Why?”

He really didn’t want to get into the details about why he was taking this trip—especially not with someone so put-off by his being in her orbit. It wouldn’t have changed her mind or her attitude about him, anyway. Time was, he would’ve used his personal pain as a way to manipulate the affection of a woman, but he’d changed. He wasn’t that guy.

And part of that change meant keeping a lot of his personal feelings to himself.

“It’s just something I always wanted to do,” he lied. “Take my time, see the sights, go where the road takes me. Besides, this route is pretty famous—when it’s all done, we’ll have bragging rights.”

Lauren started to respond, but snapped her jaw shut.

He handed her a book like an emissary trying to avert war in France. “I made a list of things to see along the way.”

“This trip can’t take a week,” she said.

“It can, actually. If you don’t rush through it.”

The look on her face told him she was not amused.

“So, is this like, your vacation?” A deep, worried line set into her forehead.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I really don’t want to go on vacation with you—I thought it was just a ride home. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to go home either, so this is, you know, a lot.” He thought she might hyperventilate. “Who takes a road trip in December? That doesn’t even make sense.” She was talking to herself now. “Why wouldn’t you do this in June or July or any time other than Christmas?”

“I’m a baseball coach,” he said. “Hard to vacation during the season.” And, if what his dad had told him was true, it was now or never to get this trip done.

She paused, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her mind.

“But you’re going on a vacation alone?” She sounded genuinely confused—baffled that he would do something she considered so strange.

“Not anymore.” He smiled.

“Have you booked our rooms?”

“No.”

“Figured out stops?”

“No.”

“Made any plans at all?”

“Yes.” Then, after thinking about it, “Well, no. The plan is to drive the historic highway from LA to Chicago, then drive the hour from there on home.”

“That’s the whole plan.” There was disbelief in her voice.

“That’s it,” he said.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re one of those live-by-your-phone, schedule-every-second-of-your-life kind of people, aren’t you?”

Her brow drew into a tight line. “No.”

He grabbed her phone, and her hand, as if by reflex, followed it, connecting with his jaw in a hearty thwack.

She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”

“You just totally hit me,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to.” Her eyes were wide. Apologetic. Dark, deep brown. “Are you okay?”