Chapter 2
Rowan
Interesting.
I usually don’t speak in euphemisms, but right now I feel like I have no other choice. Saying that this place looks like one of those cabins in a serial killer movie won’t really help his mood. “Is this what it looked like when you were a kid?”
“I don’t know,” he answers, staring at the house. “I mean, maybe it was in better condition back then. Or maybe I just thought a rural little place like this was cooler when I was ten. It’s been a while.”
We take our bags up to the front door. Grayson lets us in with a key that’s sitting under a loose board on the wraparound porch. The house has good bones and a nice design, it just looks Iike it was abandoned about a decade ago. “Still there. Who leaves their keys outside like this?”
“I don’t think anyone’s trying to break into this place, Gray.”
I have to admit that the inside of this place looks much better than the outside, but it needs a woman’s touch, as my mom used to say. Maybe I can work on that a little.
“Not so bad, right?” I nod. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s actually asking me my opinion. I wonder how he’s feeling. Two days ago we were in New York, and when I followed him out the door it seemed like the right thing to do. It seemed like the only thing to do. But so far we haven’t talked about what the plan is. He didn’t say much during the car ride, and when we did talk it was more joking around. I’m starting to wonder, now that I’m here, if I made the wrong decision. But I’m not going to jump to any conclusions yet. Gray seems a little hesitant about the place, but he’s definitely happier than when we left. Maybe this little trip will be good for him. “It just needs a major cleaning.”
“That it does,” I say. It’s 4:00 pm, and even though technically not dinner time, I’m starving. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat something. Why, are you hungry?”
“Famished. The last thing we ate was that Roy Rogers stuff on the highway.”
“I can’t believe they still have those,” he says. “But yeah, you’re right, that was like. . .”
“Ten o’clock. Haven’t eaten anything else. It’s not like we packed snacks for the road. We barely packed clothes.”
“I have an idea,” he says.
“I’m all ears.”
“There’s a tavern in town—at least there used to be—that serves burgers and pub food. How about I go pick us up some food and you can maybe unpack while I’m gone?”
“That works for me. Tomorrow I can run to the grocery store or something.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll go now.” Before he goes he does something unexpected. He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me. It’s not a friendly hug—it’s something different than that. It lasts a while, and the squeeze in his arm makes my whole body tingle and relax at the exact same time. When he finally pulls away he looks down into my eyes and says, “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I wanted you to know that.”
“I’m glad to be here with you, Grayson.”
He smiles, and leaves to go get us an early dinner. When he closes the door I’m left alone, in the house that time forgot. I put my stuff down and look around the living room. I tell myself that I’m going to unpack, maybe even clean a little, but first I step out on the wraparound porch to make a call. I dial Harley and she picks up right away.
“Girl, where the fuck are you? Have you been getting my texts?”
“I did. I wrote you back.”
“Those cryptic ‘on the road with a friend’ texts? What the fuck does that mean? Where are you?”
She sounds really concerned, like a mom whose kid ran away and was just discovered across the country. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t mean to be so vague, but I thought if I told you what was actually going on you’d try to stop me.”
“What is it,” she asks. “Were you abducted by a cult or something? Do I need to send a team to get you back and reprogram you?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I wasn’t kidnapped. Look, before I tell you everything you need to promise me that you won’t say anything to Colton. That part’s important. Swear to me.”
“I swear.”
“Pinky swear.”
“God dammit, Ro, we’re not twelve,” she shouts. “You have my ADULT promise I won’t say anything. Now go.”
I tell her how I met Grayson at his apartment two days ago. How distraught he was, and how I agreed to jump in the car with him as he left for Arizona. And how hot he looked when he was mad—I had to throw that part in. Harley just listens until I’m done and then, in true Harley fashion, throws in her two cents.
“That’s a lot to take in, Ro,” she says. “Can I sum up?”
“Go for it.”
“So Grayson got upset because his last book didn’t make him rich and famous. Because of this, he threw a grown up hissy fit—which you were a witness to because you decided to stalk him. Then the two of you jumped in a car across the country with no plan, no money, and without telling all the people who love you where you were going? Do I have all that correct?”
“Well, when you say it that way. . .”
“Fuck, Ro, what are you doing? What are both of you doing? It doesn’t seem a little nuts to hitch across the country because you didn’t get on a bestseller list? Hashtag firstworldproblems.”
She’s right. It was a little spoiled brat of him—or at least it just sounds that way when you describe it out loud, but it doesn’t feel that way. He didn’t feel like some entitled author who didn’t get his way, he seemed like someone who was genuinely hurt by his lack of success. That’s what connected with me—it wasn’t about going on some crazy, irresponsible adventure, it was about comforting a guy who I have feelings for. I wanted to be part of his journey.
“I know how it must sound. I mean, I just heard it when I said it to you, but trust me, it’s not like that, Har. He was. . .he was hurt. He needed to get away.”
“And you needed to go with him. He asked you?”
“No,” I tell her. “I asked him. Or, I guess I offered to go with him.”
“Is it weird that I’m both impressed and horrified at the exact same time?”
“That makes two of us.”
“One one hand, this sounds like one of the top three worst ideas ever, so there’s that.”
“There is that.” I agree.
“But,” she continues. “I’m a little proud of you for being impulsive and following your heart instead of your head. We’re always giving you shit about being a prude, and being too conservative, but look at you now—all grown up.”
“I feel grown up,” I tell her. “Right now I’m standing on the porch of some old shack that his uncle used to own. Our car broke down and we had to be taxied over here by the auto body show. We have no food, so Gray went into town to get us burgers for dinner.”
“Sounds like a hot mess,” she jokes. “You enjoy the hell out of that. Wish I was there with you.”
“Really?” I ask.
“No,” she says sarcastically. “Not really. Not at all. But I was serious about being proud of you.”
I’m kind of proud of myself, also. I’m not the prude that Harley and Everleigh always tell me I am. I’m just not as open about how I feel as they are. She’s right, it isn’t really in my nature to do something like this. In fact, if you made this a hypothetical scenario and tried to decide which of us would do something like it, it would definitely be Harley or Everleigh—most likely Harley.
Not me.
Never me.
Life’s funny that way, isn’t it? It doesn’t always make sense. In fact, in my experience, it rarely makes sense. The most conservative of our group is the one who hitched a ride cross country with a guy she likes but doesn’t really know that well. A romance author, no less. And the hottest one there is.
“I’m proud of me, too,” I tell her. “But I’m also scared shitless, Har. I didn’t tell him that because I didn’t want to add to his stress. When we were leaving—even when we were on the road—it all seemed like an adventure. But now that we’re here in Nowhere, Arizona, with no plan, no supplies, and no people that we know, I’m a little worried.”
“Embrace it,” she tells me, in typical Harley fashion. “Embrace the fuck out of it. You’re never going to do something like this again—at least you shouldn’t. You know that, right?”
“I’m aware, yes.”
“Okay, good, just checking. So in that case, embrace this. Take it all in. Go with the flow. All those expressions you see posted on social media and branded on tee shirts.”
“I wish it was that easy. I wish that I was as carefree as you.”
“I’m not carefree at all, Ro. I just know how to go with the crazy flow of life. Best if you don’t fight it. It may have seemed like you just ended up in his car, driving across the United States, but you didn’t. It was a choice you made. Even if it was impulsive, it was still something that you wanted, deep down, otherwise you wouldn’t be there. Remind yourself of that and try to find meaning in the whole thing.”
“Wow,” I say. “I’m not used to you being such a wise old sage. When did this start? It’s Colton, isn’t it, he’s rubbing off on you?”
“Ha,” she laughs. “Colton’s no sage, believe me. He’s a great writer and hot as fuck, and I love him, but he’s not a sage. And I’ve always been wise, you just didn’t realize it.”
“I see. Good to know. I think I’m going to follow your advice.”
“You should,” she says before we get off the phone. “And if all that fancy philosophical stuff doesn’t do it for you, I can say it in a much simpler way.”
“How’s that?” I ask.
“You’re alone, in an isolated town, with a hot-as-fuck romance author who writes some of the steamiest sex scenes in any book I’ve read. Embrace that.”
I’ve got to give it to Harley, the girl has a point.