White-Hot Hack (Kate and Ian #2)(11)
And the Spyder wasn’t just a car. It was an experience.
She’d begun testing the car to see what it could do. For starters, it could go from zero to sixty in about four seconds according to her rough calculations. It hadn’t taken long for her to become comfortable with the shift paddles, and she loved the way she could toggle back and forth between the automatic and manual transmission modes. Each time she took the car out, she went a bit farther and a bit faster. Driving the Spyder felt like driving a racecar, which she supposed wasn’t far from the truth. The two-lane roads of northern Virginia were perfect for her excursions because they never seemed to be heavily traveled, at least not in the middle of the day.
She pushed the button for the driving playlist she’d compiled, and the opening notes of Aerosmith’s “Dream On” filled the car. The early fall day was sunny and warm, and the trees were still holding on to most of their leaves. She’d recently discovered a rural Virginia byway known as the Snicker’s Gap Turnpike that passed through Mountville and Philomont and would take her all the way to Berryville twenty-five miles away. It was one of her favorite routes.
She increased her speed, loving the way the Porsche’s tires hugged the pavement. When she glanced down at the speedometer, she was shocked to realize she’d been humming along at a cool 107 miles an hour, which was the highest reading the gauge had ever shown. The superior suspension and modern engineering of the Porsche made for a much smoother ride than the Shelby, and it hadn’t seemed like she was going that fast. Instead of slowing her speed, she pressed down on the gas pedal until the needle rose to 115. She’d never thought of herself as an adrenaline junkie, but the feeling of being in control of that much speed invigorated her, and the vibrant colors of the leaves on the trees whizzed by her in a sunlit blur of orange, yellow, and red. Aerosmith gave way to Boston’s “More Than a Feeling,” and she cranked the volume and got lost in the music.
In Berryville, she pulled into the small coffee shop she’d discovered during her first visit. The pecan chocolate chip cookies they made fresh daily were the best she’d ever tasted, and in addition to her freshly brewed Americano, she bought two of the cookies to take home for Ian.
On the way back, she spotted a sign she’d never noticed before that read Goose Creek Stone Bridge. Feeling a pang of nostalgia for the Stone Arch Bridge and St. Anthony Main, she turned down the narrow gravel road and followed it until she came to a small, deserted parking lot. She locked the car and set off on foot to explore.
To her right, a wooden fence with a sign that said Wildflower Walk bordered an observation area with an informational plaque stating that the bridge had once been the site of a Civil War battle. In the distance she could see the four arches of the abandoned bridge, and the sight of it—moss covered and crumbling—seemed ominous and filled her with dread. The sun had moved behind a cloud and the wind had picked up, making her surroundings feel even less welcoming.
She headed back, bypassing the parking lot and walking down a wide path toward the bridge itself. A wild turkey darted from between the trees in the woods to her left, startling her. On the bridge, she peered over the edge at the fast-moving, muddy water. The last time she’d stood on a bridge like this, she’d been more than a little concerned about her mental health, and when she’d thrown her phone into the Mississippi, she’d been certain the likelihood of ever being happy again had sunk with it.
Now she and Ian were here, together. Married and blissfully content. She felt guilty for her restlessness and the faint tendrils of boredom that had crept into her daily life. Who was she to complain about anything? The husband she thought she’d lost loved her every bit as fiercely as she loved him. They had a beautiful home. A life of luxury. Had she forgotten how fortunate she was? A feeling of foreboding followed the revelation. Maybe they’d cheated fate. What if something happened that would take Ian away from her for real? Don’t buy trouble, she told herself. Be grateful for everything you have.
He was in the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge when she returned. “How was your drive?”
She went to him, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking him slightly off-balance.
“Hey,” he said, steadying himself and wrapping his arms around her. “What’s wrong?”
“I just love you so much.”
“I love you too.” He squeezed her tight, and when she showed no sign of moving away from his embrace he said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She lifted her head from his chest. “I found a bridge. A stone one with arches. The last time I stood on one of those, I thought you were dead. It seemed like a bad omen.” She felt a little foolish admitting her feelings now that she was home.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything, sweetness. Nothing is going to happen to me.” He kissed her forehead tenderly, and she believed him.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Other than the bridge, did you have a nice drive?”
“Yes.” She felt a twinge of remorse. She’d been driving way too fast, but both she and the car had made it home in one piece, so there was really nothing to worry about. “I brought you some cookies.” She pulled the small white bag from her purse and handed it to him.
“All I can say is it’s a good thing we have a home gym. Speaking of exercise, I think I’m done for the day. Do you want to go for a walk?” They often explored the property, their fingers interlocked as they followed the fence line, the leaves of the oak trees rustling overhead.