Page 18 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

AUTUMN

VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS

“ I cannot believe I agreed to this,” I grumbled as we finally broke free of the New York State line.

Ryan was wearing a Cheshire grin as he navigated through the midnight traffic. He had stayed with me while I finished packing and checked out of the hotel. We drove to Queens, where he took my car to a mechanic who, apparently, “owed him a favor.”

While the mechanic looked it over, topped off the fluids, and checked the tire replacement job Ryan had done, Ryan walked me to a small, two-bedroom house.

I curled up on a couch in a tidy living room while he rummaged through his bedroom and packed what he needed.

We took naps through the evening, woke up, ate sandwiches and chips, then hit the road.

I traveled light. The upside to this impromptu change of plans was that my storage unit was in Kansas. I’d be able to swap my summer clothes for winter ones if I was there for the three months I had intended to spend lakeside in Michigan. Ryan, however, was not used to my kind of minimalism.

He had stuffed his three suitcases and backpack into the backseat right where I usually slept when I was doing a long solo drive and needed to pull off the road for some shuteye.

There was a benefit to traveling alone. I didn’t mind sleeping in the backseat, which meant I saved money on hotels.

I could listen to whatever music I wanted to.

I could blast a raunchy audiobook as loud as the speakers would go, and no one was around to judge me.

I could stop and get whatever I wanted to eat without taking someone else’s preferences into consideration.

But now, Ryan was in the driver’s seat, and he was driving me crazy.

He reached across the center console—thank God for that—and squeezed my knee. “Thanks for letting me come with you.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Ford,” I clipped as I rested my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes.

I was exhausted. Never in a million years did I think I would get the call from Lisa saying Shep had died. Never in a million years had I planned on picking up my life and driving through the night to Kansas. And never in a million years did I imagine I would be making that drive with Ryan Ford.

“You doing okay?” he asked in a gentle rasp as his thumb worked back and forth across my leg.

His touch was . . . nice. It was comforting. I let out a sigh. “Yeah.”

Ryan gave my knee another squeeze, then put both hands on the wheel. “Good. Keep hanging in there.”

I immediately missed his touch.

I watched the little arrow icon move along the digital road as Ryan drove, following the GPS. We made it through Newark and had just crossed Allentown when the rain started.

Ryan flipped on the wipers and eased into the left lane. Puddles sprayed onto the shoulder as the tires sped over the rain-drenched road.

Rain.

Shep.

Skidding across wet roads and flipping down an embankment.

Oh god . . .

I shut my eyes and tried to breathe, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to cry in front of Ryan. Not again.

I heard the click of the turn signal and peeled open an eye. “What are you doing?” I asked when Ryan got off at the next exit. “You’re supposed to keep going.”

“There’s a gas station right off the highway.”

“We have a full tank.”

“I want to check the weather.”

Oh. It was probably something we should have done before we left Queens, but I had been too antsy to hit the road.

I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding on to the console until Ryan’s hand covered mine.

Fluorescent light blinded me as he pulled off the road and parked beneath the awning by a gas pump, shielding us from the downpour.

Ryan grabbed his phone and scrolled, but never let go of my hand. Piercing alarms startled us both as a flash flood warning was plastered across the screen. I hurried to silence my phone while he did the same with his.

Still, he never let go.

Ryan’s frustrated sigh cut through the rain pelting the pavement. “We need to take a different route.”

“Why?”

He turned his phone and showed me the weather radar. A torrential storm covered the majority of Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana. We would be driving through it for nearly twelve hours.

“It’s just rain,” I said as my throat tightened.

Ryan’s eyes were kind, glowing in shades of amber under the gas station lights. “It’s not just rain, Wills.”

Our eyes met for a split second when I realized that he saw my fear and honored it.

I turned to stare out the window again. A minute later, he squeezed my hand to get my attention, then passed me his phone.

“This way takes us back down through Philly, through DC, and across West Virginia. It’ll add a few hours, but I think it’s a better option.

The forecast looks clear that way. And since we’re driving overnight, the traffic through the cities shouldn’t be that bad. ”

I sighed as I studied the route. “It adds hours to the drive.”

“Twenty-four hours versus nineteen hours isn’t a big difference. But doing it in the rain for most of it is.”

Ryan was dancing around the obvious, and I was fine with that. I had done plenty of road trips in torrential downpours. Rain had never scared me.

But now it did.

“Sleep,” he said, reaching into the back and handing me his pillow—the one he had thrown into the car because he claimed he hated sleeping on any pillow that wasn’t his. “I’ll wake you up when I need to tap out.”

I curled the pillow in half and wedged it between the seat and the door. “You sure?”

He put the car into drive and eased out of the gas station lot. “I’m sure.”

Ryan’s gentle reassurance was everything I didn’t know I needed. I readjusted my seatbelt and laid my head on the pillow. The soft cotton case smelled just like him—crisp and clean with a woodsy note from his cologne. It was the hug I needed as I closed my eyes.

“Hey, Ry?” I yawned.

I felt his hand wrap around my knee again. “Whatcha need, cupcake?”

“Nothing,” I said softly. “Just . . . thank you.”

Warm beams of light crept over mountain peaks as my little sedan dipped and swerved through curving roads. Halos of sunshine echoed in patterns as the rays danced across the windshield.

I groaned as I tilted my neck. Dull pain immediately lanced through my shoulder. Sleeping upright in the car was always a terrible idea.

The car bumped and jolted as the tires hit a pothole. “Where are we?” I rasped. My mouth felt like it had been filled with cotton. I sat up and tried to blink away the protein coating my eyes, but it was futile. Between car sleep and crying, a headache was a given.

“In Virginia, south of DC.” Ryan glanced at the GPS. “We’ll head through West Virginia soon.”

I nodded and tried to swallow, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. After a moment of mental preparation for the stiff ache in my bones to ricochet as soon as I moved, I sat up and put Ryan’s pillow in the backseat.

Ryan caught my hand in his before I could move it off the center console. “How’d you sleep?”

I didn’t bother jerking my hand away. The morning light had a way of bringing my shadows out of the darkness. The gesture was the only thing that kept me grounded as thoughts of Shep flooded my mind.

“Fine,” I said with a yawn. “I’m sorry I was out for so long.”

“It’s all right.” His gaze flicked to the gas gauge. “We need to find somewhere to stop. We need gas, breakfast, and caffeine, or my eyes are gonna betray me.”

“I can drive so you can sleep.” I squeezed his hand. “I know you didn’t wake up yesterday intending to pull an all-nighter and drive halfway across the country.”

Ryan cracked a smile as he flicked the turn signal and followed a sign to Honey Hollow, Virginia. “I think the best moments in life happen when we don’t plan them.”

“Says the man with the twelve-step plan.”

His answering chuckle was tired. “The Ford Method isn’t the whole picture, cupcake. It’s an outline. You have to color it in yourself. The twelve steps are what you make of them.”

We coasted into an old gas station that looked like it had been shined up to its former glory. Crisp red and white pumps sported rotary counters instead of digital screens. A vintage Coca-Cola sign hung proudly from the clean siding. The whole thing looked like an advertisement for nostalgia.

While Ryan jogged inside to use the bathroom and pay for the gas with my card, I eased out of the car and stretched. The morning air was clean and refreshing. I rolled my neck, trying to get the kink out of it, but it was no use. Text messages from Whitney and Wander littered my phone.

In the chaos of getting Lisa’s call, arguing with Ryan about traveling together, then packing and leaving that night, I hadn’t told them that Shep was gone.

My finger hovered over the screen as I tried to find the words to tell them what happened. Two would have sufficed. Shep died. They wouldn’t need further explanation and would understand why I had gone silent.

But for all they knew, I was on my way to Michigan without Ryan instead of Kansas with him, by way of small-town Virginia.

Bells chimed as the door to the gas station opened and closed. Ryan looked devastatingly handsome in his gym shorts, sneakers, and t-shirt. His hair was disheveled from driving all night. It was unfair, really. No man should look that good after driving for hours.

“Need anything from inside?” he asked as he popped open the gas cap and shoved the pump in.

I watched the analogue gallon counter spin like a game show wheel. “I’m all right.”

Ryan opened the back door and rifled through his backpack, pulling out a little bottle of hand sanitizer, his contact case, and solution.

He sanitized his hands, then swapped his contacts for glasses.

I could see the redness in his eyes then.

Wearing them for nearly twenty-four hours must have been awful.

The glasses . . . did something to me. Something that I didn’t want to admit. They were hot. It was another layer to who he was.