Patty put her keys on the kitchen counter, hitched her baby high on her shoulder and looked over to Tristan. “There are pillows and blankets in the hallway closet. You all help yourselves. Given how cold it is tonight, I don’t expect you two will mind a good cuddle.”
The baby slipped a fraction of an inch as Patty yawned. But she hitched him back up again and continued down the hall. “I’m going to have to excuse myself from hostess duties tonight. These babies have downright tuckered me out.” She then lifted her chin to Tristan, then turned slightly to indicate he should follow her.
“This here’s the potty.” She stopped again, pointing to a door to her right. “Take a shower if you like. Towels are in with the pillows.” At the end of the hall, she took the sleeping toddler from Tristan’s arms and closed the door behind her.
Tristan stood there a second, rolling his shoulders backward as though he’d been relieved from a large weight and emotion rushed to Samantha’s face and throat.
She turned around, surprised by the panic that surged inside her. She wasn’t sure what caused it, but right now she felt unsteady—being alone with Tristan, seeing a young mom so prideful and happy with her family. Her simple home. The last thing she needed was to be alone with Tristan. It was the last thing she needed.
There was only one couch.
She wrapped her arms around her belly at the realization and took a deep breath. The couch was large, but not big enough. She unzipped her jacket—Tristan’s Jacket—feeling odd that she still wore it and draped it across one of the chairs. Somehow, he was slipping through all her walls, one by one, and she no idea how to bring them back up again.
She picked up her bag off the cushion and began fishing in the pocket for her cell phone. She needed to call Steven, to tell him where they were, that she was okay, but again, there were no bars. Tristan was right behind her, and she could feel him moving closer. “You don’t happen to have a signal do you?” she asked.
He shook his head slowly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.
She stuffed her cell back in her bag and zipped it shut. “Figures,” she mumbled. She threw her bag on the couch and moved to the kitchen window “It’s pretty here.” Her voice was broken, but she needed to say something so the silence didn’t kill her. It was agony. Torture. Because all she wanted was to know what he was thinking.
He nodded, then rested his hip on the counter beside her.
You have a boyfriend. He loves you. You love him.
She flipped around, bracing her hands on the counter, trying to hold herself steady, but it wasn’t working. Her heart was pounding so hard her legs became weak—she didn’t want to do this. “We should go to bed. We have a big day in the morning,” she whispered. But he didn’t move from his spot.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked, his voice gentle.
She pushed off the counter like a snake had just bitten her. “No. Let’s not talk about it.” She shook her head. “Let’s forget about it.” She wrapped her arms around her body, realizing she sounded ridiculous. But it was too late. “I’m not going to climb into bed with you, Tristan.”
He smiled, having to cover his mouth to prevent a laugh. “I didn’t say you were.”
She rubbed both hands over her face and took a deep breath. “There’s only one couch.”
“I’ll take the floor,” he said softly.
They were both quiet for a moment, and she could feel tears threatening behind her eyelids. “I have a boyfriend.”
“I know.”
She turned toward the hallway. There was a sort of charge holding her back, keeping her from running, but this time her conscious won the battle. “I’m going to go take a shower,” she whispered. “Do you need anything in there before I go?”
“No.”
She nodded, wishing she could see his expression. To know what he was thinking… but she couldn’t look back. If she did, she wasn’t sure she could resist throwing herself into his arms.
“I’m sorry about what I said in the restaurant. It’s not true.” She forced her hands to her sides, took her large bag off the couch, and went to the bathroom. Pulling in a shuddery breath, she turned the faucet on in the shower, and let herself cry. What was happening to her? She wasn’t sure, but something was changing. Or maybe her doubts about Steven had been there the whole time and she wouldn’t allow herself to feel them. It was as though the wool had been ripped from her eyes, allowing her to see how bright the world was. How many shades of color she’d been missing. And it had taken Tristan to allow her to see them.
Chapter Seventeen
Next morning, Patty drove them to meet the mechanic in the middle of the next town. It was smaller than she’d expected, though still quaint and lively for being so early in the morning. People were out on each corner, strolling from flower shop to antique stores too many to count—and bars—she counted at least three as they drove in from the main road.
Patty dropped them off at the corner, where she kept the car running so her babies wouldn’t fret. “Tell Bob that I sent you,” she said. “He’s a good mechanic and won’t send you a on goose chase if he knows you’re with me.” She then gave them each a brief hug, and hopped back into her van without lingering. “Look me up if you ever come back this way. I’ve downright enjoyed your company.”
They both grinned, then grabbed the rest of their belongings from the back of her van before slapping it shut and sending her on her way.
The auto shop was old fashioned, with stacks of tires along the whole fence line. They entered through the back, where Tristan’s Mustang was already on lifts in the middle of the garage. A man in denim coveralls was poking around in a tool chest, and looked up when they entered the building. As he walked toward them, he wiped his hands on what used to be a red rag. “I’m guessing this beauty is yours?” he said, around a mouthful of tobacco. “Haven’t seen a ’67 since I went to a car show in two-thousand.” He reached his hand out to Tristan and gave it a firm shake. “My name’s Bob.”
“Tristan.” Tristan replied, then glanced up to his car above their heads. “I’m hoping you know what’s wrong with her?”
“Well,” the man said, clearing his throat. “Thing is, there’s some good news and some bad news.” He looked to Samantha, nodding his head in hello. “Good news is, it’s only a bad radiator cap.” He turned back to Tristan. “Bad news is, the nearest I can get one is a two towns over.” He spread his legs wide and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his coveralls. “I’ve already sent one of my guys to get it, but I’m afraid I won’t have the car ready ’til morning.”
Tristan ran a hand through his hair and cringed. “Shit. Are you sure? We’re on our way to a wedding—”
Bob shook his head, cutting him off. “I’m afraid so. I wish there was more I could do. But truth is, y’all are lucky I found one even that close.” He then looked at Samantha. “I can see you’re disappointed ma’am, and it hurts my heart. But there’s a great bed and breakfast just across the road. People come from all over to stay there. Tell them Bob sent you, and they’ll give you a discount on your stay”
Samantha smiled, then turned to Tristan. “Well, I guess that settles it then. We’re staying the night in Colton, Iowa.” She was trying to make the best of the situation, to lower the pressure she could see stiffening Tristan’s shoulders, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking at his cell phone, deep in thought, and there was an odd expression on his face.
He finally excused himself, holding up one finger before walking out of the garage.
Samantha looked down to the ground, to the oil-stained floor, as a weird uncomfortable feeling grew in her stomach. She finally looked back up, thanked Bob for his recommendation of the B&B, then walked in the opposite direction from Tristan, wanting to give him privacy. She sat on the curb in front of the shop, kicked her legs out in front of her, and dug through her purse looking for her cell.