More Than I Could (6)

I slip off his jacket. “Got it. But one more thing. I don’t know how to get back to Peachwood Falls. I can ask Chris, but he’ll tell me to go straight, and that’s apparently not the way.”

“Go back out the way you came,” he says, taking his jacket and ensuring our fingers don’t touch. “Take a right onto the highway and go about eight, ten miles. You’ll see the exit.”

“Then why did Chris have me come down here?”

He shrugs. “He’s your friend. You tell me.”

“Well—”

“I was kidding. I don’t give a shit.” He smirks again and taps the top of my car. “Buckle up and get out of here. Watch for deer. They jump like hell this time of year.”

“Thank you. Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stopped.”

He bats a hand through the air like it’s no big deal. Also like this conversation is over.

The last dark cloud clears, displaying a remarkable sunset. The sun hovers above the tree line, and the sky glows a beautiful color of oranges and reds. Without any noise from nearby towns, everything looks so peaceful and calm … until he revs his engine.

I roll my eyes and close the door. I try to rev my engine too, but I don’t think he can hear it over the roar of his truck. I’m also not entirely sure I’m doing it right.

It takes me five moves to turn my car around the narrow stretch of road. On the third attempt, I nearly slip off the dirt and into a ditch. By the fourth one, he’s yelling at me and waving his hands like he’s landing an airplane.

It doesn’t help. I yell back that I don’t work well under pressure, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hear that either.

Once I’m facing the right way, he honks his horn twice and then barrels in the opposite direction as if he can’t get away fast enough.

I’m left sitting in the middle of two cornfields, wondering what in the hell just happened.

I broke down and got rescued by a hot stranger.

A grin settles on my face as I hit the gas.

Not a bad start to my stint in Indiana.

Not a bad start at all.





Chapter Three





Megan




I splash my way across the street.

Hit-or-miss streetlights project a hazy glow between The Ridges and The Wet Whistle. A handful of cars, primarily trucks, are parked near the establishment’s entrance, which has shifted into more of a bar than a restaurant now that it’s dark.

My first thought after my bubble bath was to climb into bed and sleep. But I know me. If I don’t eat before I lie down, I’ll be ravenous at two in the morning. Patti, the sweet receptionist at the hotel, confirmed that there’s nothing to eat in town once The Wet Whistle closes. “Sometimes the gas station has chips.”

How do people survive here?

My phone buzzes as I step onto the cracked sidewalk. I slip it out of my pocket and stand beside a whiskey barrel full of yellow mums.

“Quick question,” I say before my mother can say hello. “Do you realize you sent me to a town without a pizza place?”

Mom’s laughter is loud.

“This isn’t funny,” I say, laughing too.

“It’s only a month, Megan. I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“I mean, maybe. Barely. Patti, the receptionist at The Ridges who has friend potential, advised me I’d be bored out of my mind here.”

“Maggie said there were lots of restaurants and things to do outside Peachwood Falls,” Mom says. “She’s always talking about grabbing lunch from a sushi shop with Lonnie. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

A man with a long, gray beard putters up the road in a golf cart. He stares at me so long that his neck must be in pain.

What? Is it that obvious I’m a tourist? I look around and sigh. I don’t think tourist would be the right word.

“I’m starting to think you broke your leg on purpose,” I say.

“I was going to say that I wouldn’t do such a thing, but it is awful cozy wrapped up on the couch watching old movies.”

Mom’s unfortunate step off a sidewalk three weeks ago made her unable to fulfill her promise to her best friend, Maggie Marshall. How could she keep up with Maggie’s spirited teenage granddaughter with a cast on her leg?

Answer: she couldn’t. But I could. So my mom volunteered me for the position before I knew what was happening.

That’s what being unemployed and moving in with your mom will get you—even if you’re thirty.

“I’m taking it you made it to town,” Mom says.

“Yeah.” I tell her about breaking down but stop short of the story. She’ll panic. “It’s all good. I’m going to the Marshalls’ tomorrow to meet Maggie’s son and his daughter. Just standing outside The Wet Whistle to get a sandwich right now.” I glance up at the sign. “Cute name, huh?”

“Go eat. I know how you get when you’re hungry. Just let me know when you’re back in your hotel room.”

I smile. “I will. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you.”

I slide my phone into my pocket and tug open the door to the bar.

It’s bigger than I expected based on the outside and much cozier. A couple sits under a giant stuffed turkey flanked by two deer heads. The man and woman smile politely before going back to their drinks. A man at the far end of the bar nods before turning back to the television and giving me a clear view of his Tucker’s Towing shirt.