A Little Like Fate (Robin and Tyler)

by Cheyanne Young

  But now I kind of don’t want to leave town anymore.

  Chapter 10

  It’s day two of waking up in Salt Gap, Texas and I already have a morning routine.

  Shower first so Miranda doesn’t use all the hot water.

  Yank open the drapes and proclaim what an amazing morning it is while taking in all the beauty and wonder that nature provides.

  Small talk with Sherry in the inn’s foyer; answer all of her real estate questions and politely avoid her talks about politics.

  Head to the diner for breakfast.

  Think about that hot cowboy.

  It’s a pretty good routine. Marcus’ father left a message for me with Sherry, saying my car parts are in and they are working hard at the body shop, but it may be another day before my car is ready. I left him a reply message, on an actual memo sheet of paper, saying to take their time because I’m in no hurry to leave.

  Miranda doesn’t exactly feel the same way. “Think we really could go to Hollywood?” she asks as we make our morning walk down to the diner. “I guess,” I say, kicking an acorn a few feet up the road and trying to keep up with it on our whole walk. “California is expensive. And I hear there are drugs everywhere.”

  She snorts. “That’s not why I want to go. I have never been out of Texas. Eighteen years and stuck in the same big ass state my whole life. I just want to see somewhere new.”

  “Yeah well we can drive a few more hours and be in New Mexico. That’s another state.”

  “That state is stupid. What is it famous for?” My acorn bounces a few feet ahead of us, stopping at Miranda’s feet and she kicks it back to me. Her hair is in a ponytail today. With the back of her hair pulled up, it’s obvious that the bleached blond streak in the back hasn’t been touched up in a few months. Her roots are two inches long.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I ask. An old man in a Ford truck barrels down the road, waving at us as he passes. I wave back. “We don’t have a plan, and our original plan of not having a plan hasn’t exactly worked out for us.”

  “I don’t care. As long as I don’t have to go home.”

  “You have to go home eventually. What about school?”

  Miranda’s left thumbnail goes directly to her mouth. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?” I ask cautiously.

  She shakes her head. “You work with my mom every day. Does she not talk about me at all?”

  “She talks about you all the time,” I say in a cheerful tone, trying to get the glum look off her face. “She told me about your prom dress and NHS and everything. She tells everyone, actually. Anyone who will listen.”

  “NHS?” Miranda finds an acorn of her own and kicks it. “What the hell is that?”

  I give her an incredulous glance, but she doesn’t look like she’s pulling a massive joke on me. “National Honor Society. You’re a member.”

  Miranda laughs, a deep belly-bellowing laugh. “Holy shit that’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s so funny?”

  She takes a deep breath to quell her laughter and wipes a tear from her eye. “I dropped out of school last semester. I was failing almost everything.”

  I stop dead in the road. “What?”

  Miranda shrugs. “I can’t believe Mom told you that. She is so delusional.”

  “Did you go to prom? Were you nominated for Prom Queen?”

  Her eyebrows rise, making her forehead crinkle. “Seriously? What do you think?”

  “No?” I ask, dumbfounded. Why would Maggie lie to me like that? What did she have to gain?

  Miranda kicks her acorn toward me and I kick mine back toward her. “Mom bought me this stupid pink puffy dress but I kept telling her I didn’t want to go. Prom is for idiots. She was so pissed about it too. That’s the night I, er, well…”

  “The night you what?”

  She shoves her hands in her pockets. “The night Sperm Donor and I had sex for the first time.”

  “Sperm Donor?”

  “His name is Donovan. But in the end he was just a sperm donor, huh? It’s a better name for him, I think.”

  It occurs to me now just how massively little I know about my niece. “Tell me why Maggie kicked you out.”

  Miranda’s face turns red. “She was already pretty mad at me for dropping out of school, and I kept promising I’d get a job but no one would hire me. She walked in my room without knocking and I had the pregnancy test sitting on my nightstand.”

  My stomach knots up at the visual in my head. Miranda continues. “She started screaming and freaking out and throwing my stuff around. She told me to get out and never come back. She said I was dead to her.”

  “I can’t imagine my sister doing that,” I say.

  Miranda crosses her arms. “Fine, don’t believe me. No one else does.”

  “Hey. That’s not what I meant.”

  We’re almost at the diner now, and Miranda picks up her pace. “I should have never come to you,” she says over her shoulder.

  I jog to catch up. “Don’t say that.”

  “No. I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry I was stupid enough to find you. I was temporarily insane and didn’t know where else to go.” She’s powerwalking now, her long legs making it difficult for me to keep up with her at a walking pace.

  “Miranda!”

  “Donovan wasn’t answering my texts, not that he even gave a shit about me anyhow. I’m just a stupid dropout airhead, huh? That’s what everyone in school thinks.” Her voice cracks as tears fill her eyes. I jog up to her and grab her arm but she pulls away. “Don’t touch me. You don’t even like me. You felt sorry for me—”

  “Miranda, you know that’s not true,” I say, trying to calm her down before we get to the diner. The last thing we need is to make another embarrassing entrance and ruin everyone’s breakfast.

  “It is true. I ruin everything and now I’ve ruined your dramatic little runaway.”

  “Wait, what?” Dramatic little runaway? That’s what she thinks I’m doing? “I’m not running away,” I say with contempt. “And I’m not being dramatic about it.”

  “Excuse you, yes you are.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “Packing up in the middle of the night and not telling anyone? You think Grandma will approve of that? Does she even know?”

  My chest tightens at the mention of Mom. “She doesn’t know. She doesn’t need to know.”

  “That’s what I thought. You have some mental breakdown and embarrass yourself and think that running away will solve all your problems.” We reach the door to the diner and Miranda wrenches it open with her head held proudly in the air, her swollen nose unafraid of being faced with the door again.

  Elizabeth is all smiles and greets us with a, “Good morning Robin and Miranda! So glad to see y’all! Your nose looks much better. You can hardly tell.”

  Miranda smiles and gives Elizabeth a tiny one-armed hug like they’ve been best buddies all their lives. As Elizabeth leads us to our regular spot at the bar, Miranda turns back and whispers, “Guess what? Running away won’t solve anything.”

  I’m chewing my bacon, ignoring Miranda and wallowing in self-depreciating thoughts when someone sits next to me at the bar and orders a Chipotle-Style Big Breakfast with an extra side of bacon and sausage. He could have just saved himself all the extra words and asked for one Heart Attack. The voice is vaguely familiar. Deep, southern.

  My fork drops to my plate. It’s the guy from last night and he’s totally sitting next to me.

  And I’m sober now, so who knows what he looks like. He’s probably missing half his teeth or something. I look to my left at Miranda. She’s been ignoring me this whole time too, but at least she’s eating. Her plate is almost empty. “Hey,” I whisper as quietly as possible, so the guy’s probably huge hillbilly inbred ears don’t hear me. “It’s that guy I fell on last night.”

  She looks up with zero interest and glances behind m
e. “Yeah, so.” Her voice is really loud, way too loud and now I’m certain he’s heard us.

  “What’s he look like?” I ask, my voice not even a whisper, I’m being so ridiculously quiet. She gives me a confused look, then realization dawns on her features. She smiles an evil grin. “You have the hots for him!” she whisper-yells. My face flushes. I grit my teeth and reply. “No, shut up. Stop talking so loud.”

  She leans way back in her seat, spreading out her hands and yawning, making sure to get a good look at him. “Oh yeah, he’s cute all right,” she says, her voice as loud as if we were at a rock concert and she was trying to get the lead singer’s attention. I could kill her! I’m paralyzed with embarrassment and can’t tear my eyes off her. Maybe if I stare hard enough she will vaporize.

  She clears her throat. “It’s too bad I didn’t have the guts to talk to him.” I look at her and realize she’s faking conversation. She picks up her fork and stabs into a piece of my French toast. “You should say hi,” she whispers.

  I give her the glare again. She shrugs. “Or you could do it the next time we see him. Who knows when that will be since Hollywood is calling our names.”

  The cook appears with three plates of heart attack food for Cowboy. I take this opportunity to sneak a glance at him. If he’s not as cute as I think he is, I’ll die. It would mean I spent all night daydreaming about a nonexistent hottie cowboy who thinks my spit isn’t gross.

  “Mornin,” he says, noticing me the exact second I sneak a glance. Damn my crappy sleuth skills. “How’s the head?”

  “Good,” I say quickly, too relieved in the fact that he is totally hot and everything I envisioned last night while drunk was completely accurate. If anything, I underestimated how gorgeous he is in the daylight. He lifts an eyebrow as if to question my answer. I amend it with, “My face hurts, but I’m okay. I’m actually disappointed that I don’t have a cool bruise to prove how much it hurts.”

  “I’m surprised too. You smacked me pretty hard.”

  “I’m sorry, did you get hurt?”

  He shakes his head and empties a ton of sugar packets into his coffee. I like the way his profile looks. It’s sharp with nice angles, despite him not shaving in a day or so. He rubs his hands on his napkin and then extends the right one to me. “I’m Tyler, by the way. Good to meet you.”

  I take his hand and tell him my name. While we’re shaking, Miranda throws her hand on top of ours like we’re in a football field huddle. “Miranda,” she says. “I spit my roach eleven feet. Pretty good for a first-timer, I’d say.”

  Our hands break apart. Mine still tingles from touching Tyler’s. I realize how pathetic I am, but I don’t care. I can pretend to have a crush on a guy I’ll never see again. There’s no harm in that. Tyler drinks half his coffee in one gulp. “Who are you two ladies visiting?”

  “No one,” I say, resisting the urge to add, would you like some company?

  “No one? Then why are you here?”

  Miranda does what she does best, and butts in. “Aunt Robin had a mental breakdown. Went totally crazy.”

  He nods as if he isn’t surprised, or maybe he doesn’t care, but I care. I already fell on him and spit a roach on his leg, I need to preserve some sort of self-dignity. “We were on a road trip. Miranda here had the bright idea to stop in the middle of nowhere, break her nose and ruin my car.”

  He nods again, eating his food like this isn’t a crazy story. Come on! This town can’t possibly have seen anything as crazy as this. “You drive that Beamer?” he asks between mouths of food. I nod and he laughs. “Tough luck. Marcus will never live that down.” He shakes his head while eating. “What an idiot.”

  “He seems nice enough,” I say, desperate to keep up conversation even though Tyler only seems to care about eating. “I don’t know why he would do something so violent.”

  “He thought you were someone else.” He says it all matter-of-factly and goes back to scarfing down his food like he hasn’t eaten in a week. And that isn’t true because I know he had two corndogs after the roach spitting incident last night. He likes them with ketchup and spicy mustard. I want to say something else, but there isn’t anything to say. He’s just a small town guy and I’m just a city girl who absolutely does not need to complicate her life with another one night stand.

  With an internal sigh, I ask for a refill of coffee and decide to let Tyler enjoy the rest of his breakfast in silence. I’ll just admire him from the next barstool over.

  A few minutes pass and Miranda leans back in her barstool and taps him on the shoulder behind my back. Literally. “Hey why would he vandalize someone else’s car? What did they do to him?”

  She’s lying. We know exactly why Marcus vandalized my car. That means she must be trying to keep up the conversation despite my having ended it. I could hug her and hit her right now.

  I lean forward and turn sideways, trying to include myself in the conversation as Miranda hovers behind my back. Our new friend shakes his head as he finishes swallowing. “I don’t want to get into his business, but Marcus is a good kid. I don’t blame him for doing what he did. I’d do the same if I were him.”

  Miranda sits back on her stool with a defeated sigh. “You people have morals too? God, I miss Houston.”

  “Houston, eh?” Tyler’s even more handsome with the half-smile smirk he’s wearing. “What part? I have some family down there.”

  “All parts,” I say, picking at my food. Ugh, great. I’ve been attacked with that inability to eat that some females get around sexy guys. I lost ten pounds in the first few months I dated my last boyfriend. Sexy guys—the only fool-proof diet.

  “Hey I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” Miranda says. I nod and shoo her away with the wave of my hand.

  Tyler says something about Galveston Island, but all I hear are the words Galveston and Island. Last night he was a stranger and now we’re talking as if we were friends. Even though I wanted to ignore him and go back to my boring day, I’m finding it really hard to end our conversation. I haven’t talked like this with someone in a long time. This isn’t even professional work-related talk or rushed, pointless Facebook status comments—it’s something more. I smile and nod and make a joke about the real estate in Galveston and he laughs.

  My cheeks flush, my head tilts back and my laugh is girly. I barely recognize myself. I’m having an amazing time here, at this small town bar talking to a new friend who is totally gorgeous. I’m not worrying about getting back to the office on time, plummeting market values, open houses and piddly fights with Maggie. I’m free here.

  Is this what Grandpa wanted for me? Am I stumbling upon the happiness that he spoke of on his death bed?

  Miranda jabs me hard in the arm with her elbow. “See ya later,” she says to Tyler as she climbs back on her stool. I think she’s talking to me first, but then she widens her eyes at me and motions behind me. I catch on in time to see Tyler climb off his barstool and chug the last bit of his coffee. His eyes meet mine and he does this one eyebrow lift and smile combination before walking away. My heart pounds in my chest.

  “Rude!” Miranda hisses in my ear.

  “What?” I ask, confused and suddenly ravenous. I dig into my French toast.

  “You didn’t even say bye. You just sat there like a total bitch.”

  “I did? Ugh. I’m an idiot.” Note to self: stop daydreaming about life when talking to a hot guy.

  Miranda’s eyes pop out of her skull. Her fork drops to her plate with a loud clang. “Oh my god, you like him.”

  “What? No I don’t.”

  “You like him,” she squeals in my ear. I’m so thankful the seats around us are empty because this girl doesn’t know how to be quiet.

  “I don’t even know him. I can’t like someone I don’t know.” She gives me this look, but I keep talking. “I mean, yeah he’s attractive, but so what? I’m done caring about men. Plus, we’re leaving soon and will never see him again.”

  “You’re rambling.�
�� She crosses her arms. “Rambling means you like him.” Her stern face looks so much like her mother’s it makes me cringe. I know she’s just screwing with me but I feel my cheeks blush anyway.

  I prop my chin on my hands and lean over to her. “Fine, okay. I like him. Are you happy?”

  She beams. “Yes I’m happy. Now we can stay here.”

  “We are not staying here.”

  “But I think we should.”

  I swivel around to where my knees are touching hers. It’s hard to glare at her with that big blue-black nose of hers, but I do it to the best of my ability. “Oh yeah? Give me one good reason.”

  She rolls her eyes in the perfect portrayal of the teenager she is. “You like him.”

  “That’s not a good reason.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you one good—real—reason. And we’re staying.”

  I jab my fork into a stack of French toast and let it sit vertical. “You don’t make the rules.”

  “Pinky promise.” She holds out her pinky and tries to scoop up my unexpecting pinky but I yank it away just in time. “I’m not pinky promising anything. We hate this place, we’re not staying.”

  “I don’t hate it. I want to stay.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Have fun living alone. Tyler isn’t a good enough reason for me to stay. I’m done with dating.”

  “It’s not about Tyler.” Her eyebrows wriggle and it’s obvious she wants me to ask her for more details. Whatever she wants to say is just bursting out of her seams.

  “What is it about?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and holds up her pinky finger.

  “Fine, I’ll pinky promise.” I hook my pinky around hers. “But—you have to give me one, absolutely amazing, totally perfect reason and I promise to consider staying here…temporarily.”

  She frowns. “That’s the most half-assed promise ever, but I’ll take it.”

  “One reason,” I say.