A Second Chance Road Trip for Christmas

by Jackie Lau

  But despite the temptation, he hadn’t quit that job, and he’d saved up enough money to buy a necklace from The Bay, the one he’d had his eye on. She’d adored it—as he’d known she would—and he’d thought it was all worth it.

  To be honest, he missed feeling like he would do anything for a woman because he loved her so much.

  They’d been young, but he’d loved her.

  It had been quite a while since he’d felt like that about anyone. Tasha, however, wasn’t the solution to his lack of love life. They’d already been together, and it hadn’t worked out.

  Besides, despite some common interests, they were too different.

  Case in point: he’d prefer to spend their road trip listening to CBC like an old fogey, and she’d prefer to play “The Twelve Days of Christmas” and sing off-tune at the top of her lungs.

  And sure, he could admit that she looked nice in her sweater and had a lovely smile, but he refused to admit that her enthusiastic singing was even a little bit charming.

  No, he would most certainly not do that.

  * * *

  Tasha sighed and reluctantly turned CBC Radio One back on, though she couldn’t suppress a small smile as she recalled Greg’s reaction to her singing “Deck the Halls.”

  He hadn’t changed at all, and yet at the same time...he had.

  As he focused on the road, she snuck a glance at him. There were fine lines at the corner of his eye—those hadn’t been there before. Earlier, she’d noticed two lines between his eyebrows. His features were a little more angular, and now that they were in the car and he’d thrown his winter coat in the back seat, she could get a better look at the rest of him. He was definitely more solid than before. His bicep looked rather nice actually, and she wondered how it would feel if she wrapped her hand around it.

  Stop it, Tasha!

  Sure, she still found the man attractive. They’d dated for a long time; that was hardly surprising. But it was nothing more than that.

  “Thank you again for driving me home,” she said.

  He grunted.

  “It’s really nice of you. I guess our moms ran into each other at the grocery store and—”

  “Yeah, I know.” His voice was clipped. “And my mom called me this morning and made a point of saying you’re single. She’s clearly hoping we’ll get back together.”

  “What? No.”

  “Trust me. That’s what she wants.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Tasha said. “First of all, I don’t believe in second chances at relationships. Getting back together with an ex never turns out well. Second of all, we dated a long time ago. Fifteen years.”

  He grunted again. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not married, actually. I can imagine you cuddled up by the fireplace with a woman, each of you wearing a sweater vest and drinking a single glass of wine while you listen to CBC. Sensible presents wrapped under the Christmas tree. Maybe a French press or a fancy screwdriver. A model train if you feel really daring.”

  His gaze was focused on the road. “It might interest you to know that I have an elaborate model railway in my den.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was joking. Greg’s sense of humor did occasionally make an appearance. He’d say something ridiculous in such a calm voice that you’d believe it.

  “Really, I do,” he said. “I’ll show you pictures and you can laugh at me.”

  She chuckled. Now that she thought of it, a model railway wasn’t ridiculous at all. It fit him—and his detail-oriented brain—perfectly. She imagined this sweater-vest-wearing lady buying him tiny buildings and trees to go alongside the railway, and Greg being so overcome with love that he gave her a single peck on the cheek.

  No. Greg hadn’t been that restrained as a lover. He’d been passionate. Thorough.

  Tasha’s cheeks heated and she pushed those thoughts aside. She was probably misremembering a lot of things. After all, it had been many years.

  For five minutes, she listened to someone on the radio talk about the weather, but dammit, she kept thinking of him kissing her, and that wouldn’t do. They didn’t suit each other, and sure he was handsome, but there were other handsome men, ones who grunted less and actually liked Christmas music. Crispin, for example.

  Tasha always looked forward, never back. She tried not to think too much about the past, and Greg was firmly in her past. The only time she’d broken her own rule and given an ex a second chance, it had failed spectacularly. She’d seen it fail many times for her friends, too.

  Nope, no matter what his mother thought, nothing was happening between them.

  She let him enjoy the rest of the scintillating weather report, then put on “Wonderful Christmastime.”

  Greg’s lips thinned, but he didn’t speak.

  “Come on, get in the spirit!” she said.

  “You know me. ‘Spirited’ is the last thing anyone would say about me.”

  She suppressed a laugh.

  She couldn’t help wanting to needle him. She wouldn’t play “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” but she’d play all the other songs in her Christmas folder. And to annoy him further, she started singing along.

  He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Damn infernal racket.”

  It was snowing quite a bit now—more than a snowflake here and there. Perhaps it would take five hours to get home rather than three, but that was okay. Greg might be a Grinch, but she was having a grand old time with her Christmas music, and once she got home, there would be hot chocolate with her parents in the living room, accompanied by the fragrance of the Christmas tree. Though she couldn’t imagine living in Mosquito Bay—and not just because there were no jobs for aerospace engineers—she enjoyed going back to see her family. It was nice to have a small town to visit, away from the bustle of the city.

  “Jingle Bell Rock” was next, and she sang along to that, too, until a memory popped into her brain.

  She’d once stripped to this song for Greg.

  They’d been in their first year of university, home for the holidays. Her parents had gone out for the day, so she’d taken advantage of that and asked Greg to come over. She’d only gotten about halfway through the song before she’d burst into laughter. He’d tackled her, and they’d laughed together before having sex on the floor.

  Tasha couldn’t listen to this song anymore.

  She flipped to the next one: “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”

  “Yes, Goddammit,” Greg said a minute later. “I know it’s Christmas. I don’t know how I could bloody forget it’s Christmas, what with all the music I’ve had to endure on this trip.” He shook his head. “Do you remember that movie with the green ogre? We watched it together once.”

  “Shrek. You two have a lot of similarities. The resemblance is rather uncanny.”

  He shot her a look. “You’re like the sidekick in that movie. The donkey. The one who’s very annoying.”

  “Gee, thanks. Why can’t I be the princess instead?”

  They’d been moving slowly, but now they came to a stop on the highway. They hadn’t even gotten to Waterloo, and it felt like they’d been in the car for hours. It was already dark.

  “People drive like idiots in the snow,” he said. “If only you hadn’t been late, we could have gotten out before the heavy traffic.”

  “I think the traffic would still have been bad if we left at three.”

  “Not as bad as it is now.” He gestured to the windshield with one hand. “The snow wasn’t supposed to start until later. Why couldn’t the meteorologists have done a better job predicting this? Why couldn’t the snow have waited until we were closer to Mosquito Bay? Dammit, I’m not sure we’ll even get home tonight.”

  “You’ve sure spoken a lot in the past minute. What a novelty.”

  He didn’t reply, just tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said.

  “Nothing is going accord
ing to plan.”

  “When does life ever work that way? Don’t worry, we’ll get home tonight.”

  “Nick will have already eaten all my prime rib,” Greg grumbled.

  “Such a tragedy. Why do you have to be so negative?”

  “I’m looking at the situation realistically.”

  Tasha turned off the music and let him listen to the radio in peace. She sent a text to her best friend, Monique. My ex is annoying me. Trust me, there’s no chance of us falling in love again.

  Thank God, Monique said. But still. Be careful.

  Monique had been concerned when Tasha had told her that she was going back to Mosquito Bay with her high school boyfriend. Last year, Monique had hooked up with her boyfriend from grad school, and it had ended even worse than the first time. He’d promised he’d changed, but he hadn’t.

  I won’t do anything stupid, Tasha said. I promise.

  She closed her eyes for a few minutes and listened to the news.

  And that’s when she really started to worry.

  The top news story was the snowstorm, which was packing much more heat—or, err, snow—than meteorologists had predicted earlier. The list of delays, road closures, and accidents was alarming. She checked Google Maps on her phone, and it was showing nearly their entire route in red.

  Perhaps Greg had a point.

  This wasn’t simply driving back to Mosquito Bay in a little snow.

  This could be bad.

  And she was trapped in a car with her ex.

  On the plus side, Greg had always been a careful driver. Though he might freak out, he was actually good at performing under stress and he prepared for everything.

  So while the situation was less than ideal, and she didn’t look forward to spending several more hours with him, she acknowledged that it could be worse.

  She could be in a car with a different ex-boyfriend. Like Lance.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  “Cold?” Greg asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “Alright.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he let it go.

  “...particularly bad near London and Strathroy,” said the voice on the radio.

  Great. That was exactly where they were heading. London, Ontario was about two hours from Toronto—on a normal day—and Mosquito Bay was to the northwest of it.

  After sending her parents a quick text to let them know where she was and that she would be late, Tasha closed her eyes once more and leaned her head against the door. She tried to think of sugar plums and shortbread cookies.

  It didn’t work. Her mind kept coming up with pictures of blizzards instead.

  Chapter 3

  It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.

  Greg took a deep breath and repeated the words to himself again.

  It’s going to be okay.

  Sure, he could barely see two meters in front of the car, and the wipers were swishing frantically across the windshield, but they were still slowly moving, and there weren’t near as many cars on the road out here. Most people were sensible enough to stay off the roads.

  If only he’d done the same.

  But he’d been convinced they could outrun the storm. Nobody had predicted it would be this bad.

  And if Tasha hadn’t been late...

  He should stop fixating on that. It might not have made a huge difference in this weather.

  He grabbed a protein bar from the console and had a bite. He would offer one to Tasha, but she’d been asleep for the past hour.

  Good.

  He didn’t need to listen to more horrific Christmas music, or hear her chatter when there wasn’t much to say.

  Well, he supposed there was a lot to say. A lot had happened in the past fifteen years. But what was the point of catching up with someone who wasn’t going to stay in your life?

  Better that she sleep so he could concentrate on the road.

  Though she did look quite pretty. She’d put on a white toque, and her braids peeked out from the bottom. Her eyelashes fluttered against her dark cheeks.

  Yes, he’d glanced at her once or twice before quickly turning back to the snowy road.

  And then she snored.

  It brought a smile to his lips.

  He quickly wiped it away. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Despite all the years that had passed, apparently he’d retained a strange affection for her snores. She’d never snored a lot, but on one occasion, it had woken him up, and then he’d watched her sleep in his arms.

  There was definitely something wrong with him. Perhaps he needed some caffeine. As a general rule, he didn’t drink coffee after six o’clock in the evening, but this was going to be a long night, and he didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.

  Though with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins, there probably wasn’t much danger of that, but coffee would make this terrible drive more pleasant.

  He continued forward at a slow pace. They had exited the 401 and were now on the 402. Normally, this would be an hour or less from Mosquito Bay, but in a snowstorm, it was anyone’s guess. It could be hours from here. He’d switched from CBC to an all-news channel.

  “...closed just west of Strathroy...”

  Dammit! Was the 402 closed west of Strathroy? That wouldn’t be surprising, not in these conditions. But the radio was on low, so as not to disturb Tasha, and he hadn’t heard clearly.

  He turned up the volume, and a few minutes later, the radio host repeated the closure.

  It was indeed the 402.

  Greg blew out a breath.

  It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.

  But he’d have to take the next exit. He could try driving on back roads to Mosquito Bay, but that probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Mosquito Bay was still a ways away, and those roads were likely in poor condition. And it was dark.

  He glanced over at Tasha again.

  He didn’t want anything to happen to her.

  They should stop for the night. If he remembered correctly, there was a little motel only a kilometer or so from the next exit. He could get them each a room. Not ideal, but it was for the best.

  He blew out another breath as he got off the highway and made his way north. He was starting to worry he’d been wrong about that motel when the orange neon letters came into view: Sugar Maple Motel.

  It looked like it had been built fifty years ago and not updated since. Still, better than sleeping in the car.

  His heart was thumping too quickly. He was supposed to be in Mosquito Bay tonight, eating dinner with his family. They were too loud and they drove him mad, but he loved them anyway.

  Except now he was stopping at a motel for the night with Tasha, a situation he had not prepared for at all.

  A week of mental preparation for this would have been nice. Better yet, a month.

  He tapped her shoulder. She mumbled something inarticulate, her eyes still closed, so he did it again.

  “Are we there?” she asked.

  “No, the 402 is closed. We’ll have to stay at a motel for the night.”

  She was wide awake now. A range of emotions passed over her face, and then she pressed her lips together. “Okay.”

  He was already forming new plans in his mind. Hopefully there was food at the motel, but there probably wouldn’t be much. However, he had water, protein bars, and snacks in his trunk, so they’d be okay. Tasha might want to hang out for a little while and talk, and he supposed he could put up with that. Then they could head to their separate rooms by ten o’clock. He’d do some reading and go to bed well before midnight; she’d probably listen to some more Christmas music. There was no point trying to get up early tomorrow, since it would take a while to plow the roads, but Greg would get on the road by mid-morning and be home by lunch.

  Yep, that was his new plan.

  Oh, and he’d have to text his family to inform them of this unfortunate delay.

  He pulled his dow
n jacket tightly around him to protect himself from the brutal wind, then headed to the motel, Tasha behind him. When he opened the door to the motel office, chimes tinkled above the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” said the woman behind the desk. According to her nametag, her name was Clara. She was white, a little younger than his own mother, her brown hair heavily streaked with gray. “We’re full.”

  Oh, no.

  Lots of people must have already stopped here due to the storm. His new plan was crumbling before his eyes.

  “Are you sure?” Greg croaked. “There’s nothing at all?”

  Clara hesitated. “Well, we do have one room.”

  “Great, we’ll take it.”

  “But the heat stopped working earlier in the day, and the repairman won’t be here to fix it until tomorrow. I’ll give it to you for half price.”

  When they’d set out on their road trip five hours ago, this was not where Greg had expected to end up. In a crappy motel, thankful there was one room available, even if it had no heat.

  “That’s fine,” Tasha said. “We can manage.”

  “It’s nasty out there tonight, eh?” Clara asked as she pulled out the key for their room. Yes, this motel had actual keys, not key cards. “Terrible storm. Poor Bobby is trembling in fright.” She gestured to a Shih Tzu, lying on the thin carpet.

  In Greg’s opinion, “Bobby” was a terrible name for a dog.

  A few minutes later, they hauled their suitcases to the door of their room, the wind whipping the snow around them. It really was unpleasant out here.

  Some part of Greg’s brain—the highly delusional part—was thrilled with this situation. He’d get to spend the night in the same room as Tasha, who sure did look cute all bundled up. He pictured her undressing, sliding her hand down his body. They’d had a lot of fun together, back in the day...

  Nope, not happening. His imagination needed to calm the fuck down.

  He put the key into the lock and turned. The door opened, and he flicked on the lights. It wasn’t warm in here, but at least there was no wind.

  However, there was only one bed.

  Chapter 4