Risking It

by Angela Quarles

  My headlights sweep across a hand-painted sign promising juicy citrus. U-Pick, U-Bag, $7.

  If I’d been driving with Jane and it was daytime, I’d tease her about stopping. She’d protest but not really mean it. We’d examine each pick before putting it in our bag, and I’d try to steal a kiss next to her ear.

  Jesus. I’m already a goner.

  I’m not in a car with Jane. It’s not daytime. And we’re not in some fucking sappy romantic movie.

  Yeah, it’s a good thing I’m leaving now.

  Jane

  My motel doesn’t have continental breakfast, so I’m scuffling across the deserted road to a diner recommended by the manager. The parking lot pavement’s so old, grass pokes up through the radiating cracks.

  I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself.

  After all, I have my wish now, right? Three whole days where I can veg—by myself—and read.

  Damn straight. I grip my tablet tighter and push through the door plastered with paper flyers for local events, some out-of-date. The little bell rings, and a few heads blink up at me with bleary eyes before returning to their papers or smart phones.

  I select a booth in the back corner and slide across the vinyl seat where a strip of duct tape covers a broken seam. I try to hold on to that resolve when really I’m afraid the ache isn't just the absence of a recent familiarity, but because I’ve grown feelings for the charmer. Honestly, it feels like I have that string Jane Eyre mentions, tied from my left rib to his.

  “What’ll ya have, miss?”

  A girl about my age looking as if she’s about to pop out a baby, she’s so huge, holds an order pad, her other arm resting on her preggo belly.

  I scan the menu. “Hot tea, and I’ll take the breakfast special with the eggs over easy.”

  “Coming right up.” She scoots back to the kitchen area with surprising speed.

  I wake up my tablet. The last book I was reading pops up on the page last read. I stare at it.

  Aaaand, wow, my mind’s scrambling for what the hell I’m even reading. Because it’s been that long since I cracked this open. Whoa. Normally, I read every day, and I’m taken aback to realize I haven’t read anything in several days. Last night I didn’t even pick it up and instead turned on the TV.

  I flip back a page and start reading to refresh my memory, and it doesn’t take me long to get back into Loretta Chases’s Mr. Impossible.

  My breakfast soon arrives, but I’m experiencing the hot lashes of a sandstorm as the lovable rogue Rupert protects the brainiac Daphne. Once I finish my breakfast, though, I reluctantly push away my plate and tablet and top off my hot tea. I need to figure out what I’m going to do.

  I look at the time on my phone. Almost late enough on a Friday morning for me to call Claire and beg for a loan. Which, man, I hope she can do, because I don’t have a lot of options.

  I decide to be optimistic and assume she’ll come through and I can have my car fixed by Monday. That leaves one more decision—go straight home or continue the trip?

  I need to call the library and ask for Monday off anyway, since I can’t leave until then. So do I also ask for Tuesday off and finish Claire’s route or hightail it home once my car’s fixed?

  From the corner of my eyes, I see my tablet fade to black from inactivity, dousing the words I just left. When I was caught up in their tale. Oddly, a pang of longing pierces me. A longing for more. Yeah, I’m enjoying their story, but I’m reading about someone else’s life. And while there’s no way I’ll give that up, can’t I have both?

  And then a new feeling suffuses me, one that makes me choke up as well as flip the contents of my belly from excitement.

  Yes. Yes, I can. I’m going to finish the trip. And not just because I want Claire to reconcile with her mom, though she’d probably concede that my car failure constitutes an exception.

  I want to finish for me.

  Aiden

  I toss the empty can of Red Bull onto the floor of the rental and follow the directions Google calls out for the team’s hotel in Atlanta.

  I’d like to say I had a lovely, refreshing eight hours of sleep at a luxurious hotel last night, but my nose would grow so long, it’d punch through the windshield.

  Can’t have that.

  Especially since it’s a rental.

  Jesus, I’m getting punch-drunk.

  I pull into the parking lot and navigate to a shady spot. I need to get my head on straight before I face the guys, or they’ll ferret out something’s up and I’ll never hear the end of it.

  Last night, besides thoughts of Jane, which necessitated rubbing one out in the shower before collapsing into bed and again this morning, all of my interactions with Brittany paraded through my mind. I kept trying to shove her out of my mind, where she belongs, but I failed miserably.

  Now, for the first time since she left me at the altar, I sift through our time together, looking for where I went wrong. After that disastrous day, I was too devastated to analyze it all. I think I was too afraid. Too hurt.

  I wanted to forget her. Thoroughly. Hence losing myself in mindless hookups.

  The problem is, I had no closure.

  No explanation.

  And I was too angry and hurt to demand one, if she’d even have let me ask.

  I snag my cell from the passenger seat and do what I’d resisted doing ever since—look Brittany up on Facebook. I’d unfollowed her right after, unwilling to cut the tie completely by unfriending her, but also not wanting to have her life pop up into my feed on a regular basis. No, thank you.

  Surprisingly, we’re still friends, so I’m able to see her profile.

  Seeing her face in a picture that’s not familiar to me doesn’t cause any ripples whatsoever.

  Interesting.

  I mean, I knew I was over her, but I thought I’d feel something. I scroll through her feed. She hasn’t changed a whole lot. There’s a plea for signing a petition to save an endangered animal. There’s a meme from one of her favorite movies. Vacation pics.

  Then I notice that a lot of the vacation pics feature the same guy and the more recent ones have a baby.

  Fully aware I’m straight out stalking, I click over to see her relationship status. Married.

  On a hunch, I scroll to the time period when we were supposed to be married. She graduated on time. Then I see the notice where she’s tagged herself as being married. And it’s only two fucking months after she left me.

  Well, the timing’s suspicious but not definitive that she left me for another guy. But it’s all the closure I’m going to get.

  Closure.

  Having that now—man, it shifts something into place inside me. Something I didn’t realize was out of whack.

  That’s all I’d wanted. To know why.

  And because I’m a sorry putz, I click into the search box. My finger hovers over the keys.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter.

  I type in Jane’s name and find her profile. My gut flips when her profile photo appears. She’s at a café table reading a book, and someone’s captured her just as her hand raises up to block the shot.

  There’s a half smile, as if she knows she should be more social with whomever she’s with, but she’s gotta read a little bit more. From the background, it appears she’s at a café on Siesta Key.

  Most of her profile is locked down, so there’s not much more on her timeline than that photo and public notices for events at the library, but I click to her photos page anyway. To see if she’s with any other guys. The thought of even seeing a pic of her with another guy sends an unreasonable flash of jealousy through me. I sit back and toss the cell into the passenger seat.

  Fuck.

  I have it bad for her.

  I’ve also been an idiot—Jane’s nothing like Brittany.

  I can’t just assume that because she’s serious and screams relationship-material I’ll lose myself in her and she’ll just take-take-take.

  I have no idea if she does want
more from me than sex, but maybe I can convince her there’s more to me.

  I snatch my cell and look at the screen. Fuck it. I still have time. I shift the car into reverse and pull out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 19

  Jane

  I punch the pillow behind my head. Get fluffier, dangit.

  Can’t get comfortable. I fall back with a sigh and flip to the next page in my ebook.

  I haven’t been able to get a hold of Claire yet—she teaches sailing, and summer camp is still going on. I’ll have to wait until tonight. I should have woken her up this morning before she set out, but it’s not as if I’m in a rush—they can’t work on it until Monday anyway.

  A knock on the hotel door startles me. What the—?

  My heart races as it obviously has stupid hopes that it’s Aiden.

  “It’s not him,” I mutter as I scramble off the bed and bolt to the door.

  I peek through the peephole. It’s the tow truck driver from last night.

  My stupid heart crosses its arms in a huff. Frowning, I open the door.

  “Hey, Miss Jane.” He holds up my keys and shakes them. “You’re all set.”

  I blink, because…what?

  I peer past his shoulder. My car’s in a patch of shade off to the right.

  “How… My car. It’s fixed? I thought…”

  He gives me a funny look. “Didn’t your guy tell you? He paid one of Scott’s mechanics overtime so you guys could have your car finished up today.”

  He… But…

  “Wow. Like Mr. Darcy,” I whisper. I mean, not with fixing a car, obviously. But fixing a problem of mine without telling me.

  “Ma’am?”

  I shake my head never mind. Dazed, somehow I manage to hold out my hand for the keys and thank him.

  I let the door fall shut and shuffle over to the bed as confusion clouds my mind.

  Why didn’t Aiden tell me?

  He came in from outside after we first arrived, where he clearly made some calls as well as getting ice and Cokes. He told me about how he needed to get to Atlanta, and…

  Shit. I cut him off to tell him I had a rental for him.

  I was so determined to not let myself get attached to a charmer—and spare myself a letdown—that I pretty much pushed him out the door.

  Pretty much? There was no pretty much about it. I did push him away.

  My heart perks back up, the sap, pointing an accusatory finger at me—See? He likes us!

  I point out he was just being practical—we needed the car fixed, and he had a tight timeline.

  I fall back against the lumpy pillow and stare at the ceiling. I need psychiatric help, clearly, because I’m anthropomorphizing my heart. Gah!

  Okay, if his gesture was pure practicality, why didn’t he just tell me and save himself the expense of the rental car on top of the mechanic?

  My heart wins this round. I bounce off the bed and start stuffing my scattered belongings into my suitcase.

  I’m going to finish this trek now, but instead of turning around and heading back after reaching Atlanta, I’m going to Aiden’s game. Because if there’s a possibility that Aiden gets me like Rupert understands Daphne, I’m going to risk finding out.

  Aiden

  Jesus Christ in a Clown Car, my palms are sweating. It’s almost four in the afternoon, and I’m pulling into Ashburn, Georgia, for Jane’s last stop on her trip.

  What’s here? Besides her soon (hopefully)?

  The World’s Largest Peanut, of course.

  Before leaving Atlanta, I called the mechanic to get an update, and as requested, he called about an hour ago to say the car was being delivered to Jane.

  So, according to Google, she’ll arrive in about an hour.

  If she decided to continue her trek.

  And that’s a big fat fucking if.

  The kicker? I can’t even call her because we never exchanged cell numbers. And Claire sure as hell isn’t going to give it to me. So I’m going to camp out as long as the site will allow.

  The giant peanut on a brick tower is visible from I-75, but when I pull off the interstate, I can’t find the stupid road that’ll get me there. No signs point the way, so I keep trying side roads. After a turnaround in an apartment complex, I find the right road.

  I’m trying not to see this as a fucking metaphor for my love life.

  The giant peanut looms at the end of a stretch of road surrounded by empty fields and patches of pine trees and shrubs, with the interstate as backdrop.

  I park in front of it, the only car here. Conveniently, there’s a gazebo housing a picnic table where I can wait for as long as I’m able before I have to make the two-plus hour trek back to Atlanta.

  If she doesn’t show before then? Well, then time for Plan B, whatever that will be. Looks as if I’ll have time to figure that out.

  The gazebo and picnic table give me an idea, though.

  Jane

  Up ahead, the giant peanut beckons in solitary glory from the side of the interstate. It’s been an uneventful two-hour drive, but I don’t use the time to listen to an audiobook like I’d normally do on a road trip.

  Instead, I stew in my thoughts. A strange mixture churns inside me, and I need the time to separate my thoughts out.

  Part of me is miserable at how things ended with Aiden and how I so quickly wrote him off. There’s guilt there too, that he went to so much trouble and I didn’t even know it until the keys showed up today with my car.

  Yeah, I feel like a total bitch, okay?

  Part of me is also excited about seeing a stupid giant peanut, and I owe a lot of this excitement to Aiden. He helped me become more engaged with these crazy-wacky sites. Helped me see them as something worth noticing and experiencing. As if this engagement was an unused muscle before and he helped creak it into use, and now I can’t stop.

  Which also makes me wish that he could be at this last site with me. But that’s tonight.

  Tonight, I’ll be in Atlanta and can try to make amends. I have no idea if any of what I’m feeling is just me, but I need to find out. I’m going to dare to climb that height of expectation. After I packed and left the motel, I texted Claire for the team’s hotel info.

  She called back later, wanting to know what the emergency had been earlier, and I filled her in on the car trouble. Thank God she couldn’t talk long because she was rushing to make her flight for Atlanta—she’s coming up tonight with the women’s team—otherwise she’d have grilled me more. I also thanked her for the trip. At first she thought I was being sarcastic, considering my car just broke down. But I was serious. She was right. I needed this journey.

  Time to my thoughts also let another nugget float to the top: slipping and making a literary reference with the tow truck driver earlier when I was flustered made me realize I haven’t done that in a while. Which led me to wonder—why?

  My conclusion? And this threw me. In those moments, I think I wasn't quite fitting into the world. It was my way of processing and relating my experiences to what I did know. And lately with Aiden, I was experiencing the world in a more…involved way? On my own terms?

  Something like that, anyway.

  Miss Google speaks up, and I exit onto the off ramp and follow her instructions. I didn’t quite break our rule about looking up our sites, but I also didn’t want to waste time searching for the site, so I went on roadsideamerica.com and found the exact GPS coordinates.

  A couple of turns later, and the monument to the peanut is straight ahead at the end of the road.

  Damn. Another car’s there. I won’t have it to myself.

  And then I catch myself.

  No.

  That was the old me.

  The new me should embrace interacting with others.

  I park next to the other car and grab my Polaroid and journal. Someone inside the gazebo stands.

  Hmm. Maybe this isn’t such a great idea as they look to be man-shaped and there’s no one else nearby.

&n
bsp; I’ll just make this quick.

  I step out, not making eye contact, and edge around the giant peanut so I can get a Polaroid for my journal.

  The film pops out. As I lower the camera, my gaze brushes past the gazebo, and my heart friggin’ stops.

  It’s Aiden, leaning against a support post for the gazebo.

  I take a couple of steps forward, and jeez, my legs are a little shaky. “You’re here.”

  He’s mostly in shadow, but I can see his big grin, which sets loose not only a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, but a twinge of heat in my lady parts.

  As I approach, though, I notice his leg’s bent back, and he’s tapping his toe against the decking.

  His hands are in his front pockets, and the way he’s leaning against the post is pure hunk, highlighting his height and his muscles. But that tap-tap-tap?

  Holy crap. He’s nervous.

  Right then and there, my heart drops out of my chest and melts at my feet. Especially when I see behind him a picnic table loaded with food, two wine glasses, and a bottle of wine.

  Chapter 20

  Aiden

  I have the casual lean going as Jane approaches, the sun behind her purpling the clouds as it descends.

  But inside I’m all kinds of emotional. It’s killing me not to close the distance between us and gather her against me. Seeing her exit the car—fuck—it was like fireworks exploded and I was motionless from the shock of it.

  I mean, I know I’m attracted to her like no one else, but this was…different. It was relief and contentment and rightness. As if everything around me was back in its place.

  But, Jesus, I have no idea if she feels the same.

  I’ve never risked this kind of leap before.

  Not even with Brittany. That sounds weird, I know, because we were engaged, but getting married was just talked about as a given. There was no palm-sweating, heart-pounding scene as I whipped out a ring or anything.

  Now, though?