“I CAN’T BELIEVE you’ve never been down to Carlsbad Caverns.” Boone’s voice holds a boyish excitement.
I want to say I can’t believe he thinks bringing me to a giant hole in the ground is a good first date idea. Instead, I settle for telling him, “Caves and hanging out with bats aren’t high on my list of things to do on my days off.”
“You’re missing out on one of nature’s most splendid wonders.” He bobs his chin to emphasize his brilliant idea.
“You sound like a brochure. Do you get a kickback for bringing in new visitors?” Bending my knee, I rest my foot on the edge of my seat in his truck.
“I’ve been coming here my whole life. My grandmother used to be a ranger here. Did you know the earliest explorers used lanterns and buckets on rope to get to the lower sections. Can you imagine being alone down there?”
“With the bats and the never-ending darkness? No way. Stuff of my worst nightmares. Like the black void of space, but with bats flying around.”
He dips his chin and stares at me over his sunglasses. “You’re weird, you know that, right?”
“Chiropterophobia is a real thing.” There’s probably a phobia of caves, too, but I don’t know the word. I’ve never needed it before. I pull out my phone and look it up. “Speluncaphobia or claustrophobia, which seems too broad because closets and elevators don’t typically have bats hanging in them.”
His lips curl into a smile. “I think bats are misunderstood. They’re adorable. And eat mosquitoes. Which would you rather have? Bloodsucking insects or furry mini teddy bears with wings?”
My mouth pops open. “I’m weird? Pretty sure you’re the only person who thinks bats and teddy bears belong in the same sentence.”
“We should stay until dusk. You might change your mind.”
“What happens at dusk?” I ask against my better judgment.
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” His grin is full of the kind of mischief that’s a direct route to trouble.
“Tell me.” I grab his wrist on his arm not currently steering the truck. The one resting on the top of his thigh right where his jeans crease. So essentially if he moved his hand a few inches, I’d be grabbing his crotch. At this realization, I jerk my hand away.
Thankfully, Boone doesn’t seem to notice my almost threatening dick grab. “Since you asked so nicely, at dusk, thousands of bats leave the natural entrance to the caves and fly over the amphitheater to the delight of all in attendance.”
“I’m going to stop you right there and say nope,” I say this as I hold up my arms in defense against a swarm of invisible bats.
He laughs at my reaction. “I won’t force you, but it’s really cool.”
“Can I wear a space suit? Better yet, a human-size hamster ball. Have one of those laying around?” My crazy ideas give me a small slice of comfort.
“Sadly, I don’t think they rent those in the gift shop.”
Widening my eyes, I shrug. “Too bad. Guess we’ll have to be on the road before dusk.”
We ride in silence for a few miles. Not sure about him, but my thoughts are still on caves and bats and how many phobias I have.
Wanting to break the lull in conversation, I try to focus on something positive. “That’s kind of cool your grandmother was a ranger here.”
“She’s amazing. Back when she started, there weren’t a lot of women who worked as rangers. By the time I was a kid, she was retired but would bring us here and encourage us to explore.”
Twisting to get a better look at him, I try to process his words. “Your grandmother used to let you roam around caverns when you were a kid? In the dark? Unattended?”
“Shari was with me. Sometimes our parents joined us. And we had walkie talkies.”
“My grandmother didn’t let me ride my bike into town by myself, even in the middle of the day.” Back then there wasn’t a term for overprotective parents, but I’m definitely the product of helicopter parenting. Ironic that now I’m an orphan, completely on my own.
Boone follows the winding road from the turnoff to the visitor’s center. Scrappy looking creosote shrubs and rock cover the craggy landscape, which gives no hint to the secrets hidden below the surface.
The landscape is beautiful but vaguely hostile. Kind of how I used to see the man sitting beside me. Maybe hostile is too strong. Unfriendly. Guarded. Disinterested. Dry.
Two of those things are no longer true.
“We’re here,” he announces when he pulls to a stop behind a single story beige building.
“Are we sneaking in the back?” I ask, peering around the dumpster for an entrance.
“I still have connections. We can go through the employee entrance and skip the lines. If you want, we can even take the elevator down to the bottom and avoid the bats entirely. Although some people,” he points at his chest, “think you’re missing the best part if you go that way.”
“Save your judgment, Santos. I’m fine skipping the stench of the guano of a million bats.”
“Suit yourself.” He hops out the driver’s side door.
I follow and find him waiting for me by the tailgate.
“If anyone asks, you’re my cousin.”
“Why?” I give him the side-eye. There’s no way we’re related unless one branch of his family tree is Wednesday Adams. I’m short, curvy, and pale next to his tall, angular, tanned self.
He glances around before tipping his head down and lowering his voice. “Lifetime family membership only applies to actual family.”
“Got it. I’m Lucy Santos if anyone asks.”
He grins down at me. “Lucy Santos works.”
Works for me, too, but I don’t tell him that.
As he leads me through the employee-only area, I mentally write Lucy Santos all over my imaginary notebook, sometimes drawing hearts or adding Mrs. before my new name.
I might be almost twenty-eight, but my inner teenager girl is alive and well.
The lobby is decorated like any other semi-generic welcome center. Pale stones lining some walls give a vague hint we’re in the southwest, but the bland wood counters and fluorescent lighting make it feel like a government office. Out of the large picture windows, cacti fill planters and flower beds in case anyone forgets they’re actually in New Mexico. Perhaps a necessary reminder once they ascend from the the depths.
Crowding near the elevators, tourists wait their turns to descend to the caverns.
“This reminds me of going to Niagara Falls when I was little. You can take an elevator to tunnels behind the Canadian Falls.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this other than an elevator into the bowels of the earth is involved in both.
“Are you nervous?” Boone touches my shoulder, resting his hand there.
I shake my head no. “Yes.”
He nods and then mirrors my head shaking. “Nothing to be afraid of. I know this place by memory. If you stick to the paths, it’s impossible to get lost.”
We join a group in an elevator, squeezing ourselves into the corner. More people crowd on and I find myself with my back pressed against Boone’s front.
His natural spicy scent envelops me along with the warmth of his body where we make contact.
“We’re like sardines in a can,” an older man announces to the group.
We all laugh and the collective energy changes from discomfort to camaraderie as we descend.
I’m not sure how long I expected a journey to the center of the planet to take, but the elevator thumps to a soft landing and the doors open sooner than I imagined.
Boone slips his fingers between mine and I find myself returning his pressure.
“Ready to be amazed?” he whispers close to my ear as we wait for the others ahead of us to leave.
“As ever,” I put on my fake friendly voice. I kind of sound like an overly excited cartoon character. I may have overdone it.
Like the elevator trip, what I see when I exit is not at all what I expect.
Directly ahead of us is a snack bar with tables and chairs straight out of a 1960s sci-fi movie. Round kiosks with illuminated circular roofs look like spaceships. Vintage down to the plastic chairs and shiny stainless steel of the counter where you place your order.
“What sort of trickery is this?” I ask, spinning around to take it all in. “Are we really underground?”
The “walls” are smooth rock and I feel like I’ve been transported to an amusement ride at Disney World where nothing is real and all part of a giant fabrication for our entertainment.
“Where are the Seven Dwarves? Is there a big theater with all the dead presidents around the corner? I’m so confused.” I stop spinning because it’s making me dizzy.
A woman exits the restroom directly across from the elevators. “There are bathrooms? In a cave?”
“You sound really excited about the bathroom.” His eyes crease in the corners as he laughs.
“Be right back.” I race over to the entrance and wave at him before I check out the restroom.
“I’m peeing underground,” I say out loud, thinking I’m alone in the stalls.
“Me too,” a small voice shouts from my left, followed by giggles.
Happy to share the moment with someone, I give the little girl a high five . . . after we thoroughly wash our hands.
I spy Boone sitting at a table with his legs stretched out in front of him. When he sees me he stands. “Everything you dreamed?”
“I’m not sure I’d survive living down here, but I’m feeling less panicked by the idea of being a few hundred feet underground than I thought I’d be.”
“Who’s asking you to move into a cavern?” From the grin on his face, I clearly amuse him.
“The whole place screams cold war bomb shelter of the future, only from seventy years ago.” I stare up at the dark rock of the natural ceiling overhead. “Or a super villain’s lair. This place has despicable Bond villain written all over it. Better yet, snack bar on the moon.”
I finally end my rambling. I guess I’m still nervous.
“Except for the gravity keeping us from floating away.” He smirks.
“Buzzkill.” I pull the sleeves of my thin cotton shirt down over my fingers.
“Cold?” he asks.
“It’s not exactly cozy down here.”
“That’s why I told you to dress warmly.” He brushes his hands up and down my arms to create heat.
“I didn’t believe you.”
He begins unbuttoning his chambray shirt. “It’s not a sweater, but another layer might help.”
His nimble fingers slip the buttons out of their holes. The blue cotton falls open with his progress, revealing a white T-shirt underneath. Something about the faded denim and classic white tee make him fit in with the vintage decor. For a moment I can see him with his hair slicked back like one of the greasers in The Outsiders.
“Here.” He hands me his shirt, which is still warm from his body heat.
“I can’t. Won’t you be cold?” I’m already slipping the cloth over my shoulders, but it feels more polite to protest.
“I’m always hot.”
Understatement of the century. “Humble much?”
He tugs his shirt closed across my chest, his fingers brushing a few inches above my breast. “Thanks for the compliment, but I meant temperature wise. I never get cold.”
“Still braggy.” I roll the extra-long sleeves up to my wrists and button up. I’m not a thin, delicate boned woman, and still his shirt swallows me, hanging down to my mid-thigh.
“And you’re adorable. Ready?” He gives me the softest peck, then rights himself and tucks his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans.
I’m still leaning forward, waiting for more until I realize that’s all he’s going to give me. There must be a dark corner around here where we can make out. It’s a cave after all.
“Bring on the stalactites. Or stalagmites.”
He flashes me a sexy, slow smile. “I can promise you both.”
With his hand resting on my shoulder, he steers me down a paved path toward a sign that reads, “Big Room.” A short walk down a dark tunnel brings us to the opening of a vast cavern, illuminated by white lights.
I take back my comment about Boone’s “always hot” declaration being the understatement of the century.
“This place is a cathedral.” Awe replaces my usual snark when we enter the enormous space lined with white limestone. “Only filled with penises of every length and girth imaginable.”
Beside me, Boone chuckles.
“Let’s pretend I kept the last part to myself and didn’t actually speak it out loud. Because that would be embarrassing, even for me.”
I stand by the statement, though. Great white phalluses hang from the high, domed ceiling while others rise up from the cavern floor like stone erections. Pools of water reflect the illuminated sculptures.
“This is the most bizarre place I’ve ever been,” I tell Boone, who I assume is behind me. He must not be paying attention, so I grab his hand.
“Sure you don’t want to stay for the bats?” Boone appears on my other side.
If he’s on my right, how am I holding his hand with my left? Slowly, I slide my eyes to the side and see a middle-aged man sporting a yellow golf shirt over his dad bod. Glancing down, I confirm our fingers are laced together.
“Why are you holding hands with my husband?” a frazzled looking woman asks from beside the man.
“Mistaken identity,” I apologize, releasing his hand and wiping mine on my jean-covered hip.
Boone watches me, fighting laughter with a twist of his mouth.
“Go on, let it out.” I give his arm a gentle shove.
“I didn’t figure you for the cheating type, Lucy. And now that I know you’d rather hold a stranger’s hand than mine, my feelings are hurt.” He pushes out his bottom lip in a pout and gives me sad dog eyes.
“I was talking to you and you weren’t answering me, so I grabbed your hand to get your attention. It wasn’t a romantic gesture.”
“I hope not. That man’s wife seemed pretty pissed.” He snickers.
“Har har.” I step around him to continue my exploration.
He follows me for a few steps before slipping his hand around my wrist and then interlocking his fingers with mine.
Afraid to ruin the moment, I don’t say anything. Neither does he. We stroll silently among the giant sculptures almost a thousand feet below the desert.
This might not be my idea for a romantic date, and if this is romance to Boone, he’s truly weird, but either way, I’m happy.
In this strange place, holding hands with him, I’m not thinking about the past or worried about the future. I’m content.
Boone lures me outside to show me the natural cave opening. Families and couples are already claiming their bat viewing spots in the amphitheater carved into the hillside above the hole that leads to the bat cave.
“This is more than adequate. Right here. Got the idea.” I dig in my heels and stop. “I can imagine the gaping maw spewing forth thousands of furry bloodsuckers.”
A woman near me must overhear my description because her eyes bug out of her head and her mouth drops open. From her horrified expression, no one has explained the details of the event she’s attending. I feel sorry for her.
“All good. Let’s go.” I use both the hand Boone is holding and my free one tugging on his arm to pull him away. “Sun’s getting low in the sky. Best be on the road soon.”
I’m growing to like the way his eyes narrow and his lips press together when I say or do something he finds funny in an odd, not ha-ha way. Like I’m a strange bird who suddenly appeared in his yard one day and he doesn’t know what to do with me.
If he only knew how strange I am.
He’d run for the hills. Or down into a cavern to live with his bat friends.
For now, I amuse him. I’ll take this moment even if it’s all we get. There’s no promise of a future, not when he finds out my past.
“I’ll make a deal with you.” He stands his ground. “If we leave now, we stop on the way home for the best chiles rellenos you’ll ever have.”
“Feeling pretty confident about these chiles.” I scrunch up my face like I’m doubting him. I’m not. “What’s the other option?”
“We stay for the bats.” He smirks at me. “Your choice.”
He’s played me. So he thinks. Like going to dinner with him is a burden.
“Twist my arm. Let’s go to dinner. Such a hardship.” I grin at him.
We’re far down the road when the sun sets, but I swear I see a flock of bats in the dusky sky as we drive back toward Roswell. Or maybe they’re tiny black UFOs.
Today’s one of those days when anything feels possible.