Page 15

I am freaking out. No one would know, because I’m laughing and following my family down the stairs like it’s any other day.

But it’s not any other day.

I just spent ten luscious, toe-curling minutes making out with Anders Beck in my closet. What is this dreamy parallel universe I’ve slipped into? For the record, the man kisses like it’s a competitive sport and he’s the world champion. It was just… heaven. Until my family caught us. I will be teased about this until the end of time. Mercer definitely clocked my beard-burned cheeks and pointed it out in her less-than-subtle way. I’m trying to be cool and it’s not going well. What’s new?

Anders leads us through the front door, toward my mother’s circular driveway. I’m bringing up the rear with Imogen, whose tiny hand found mine on our way down the stairs. I just speed-changed into my favorite old sweatpants, so I'm glad the downpour has stopped for now—though it left the air sweet with the smell of wet earth and creosote. Storms in the desert can be unpredictable, but this one felt like the universe’s way of pushing me into a closet with Anders, like a little birthday gift from above. I can’t stop smiling about it .

At the end of the driveway, behind my siblings’ line of cars, a bubble gum pink Jeep catches my eye. Anders leads us in that direction.

“Jeeping Beauty!” Imogen squeals, dragging me toward the Jeep. “Dad! How did it get here?”

“I had James bring it from home for you and Sunny to drive.” Anders grins at me. “This gift is just a loaner, but I thought it would be a lot more fun for you and Immy than the barbiturate-with-wheels you've been riding around in.”

Imogen is bubbling with excitement. “Yeah, our Jeep is so fun. We take her in the mountains by our house when my dad doesn’t have to work. She’s mine. My dad named her Jeeping Beauty ‘cause he tells me I’m Sleeping Beauty. Get it?” — she drags in a huge breath — “And ‘cause it’s pink.”

“That’s a good name.” I smile down at her.

Now that I’m standing closer, I spot the words “Jeeping Beauty” painted on the fender in scrolling cursive, barely visible in the dark. I don’t know anything about these vehicles, but I can tell this one is older and has been well restored. The paint is custom and shiny, the tires are big and knobby, and it doesn’t have a cover. Top? Whatever you call the part that keeps the wind from destroying your hair—this Jeep doesn’t have it.

Anders says under his breath, “It was either this, or a purple Jeep named Rapunzel. I prefer the pink.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but I think he’s blushing. While my family circles the vehicle, peeking inside and gushing about this over-the-top gift, Anders stands close to me—probably too close—and murmurs, “So… I gotta be honest. Immy told me you said your life is boring.” He holds his hands up in surrender at my glare. “Her word. This isn’t a big deal, I just wanted to give you some fun.” He scuffs his shoes across the gravel at our feet. Is he nervous? “So, what do you think? Fun? ”

This Jeep is a lot of things—impractical, loud, conspicuous, and likely gas-guzzling. It doesn’t look like me. My environmentally-friendly, top safety rated sedan looks like me, but maybe I don’t want it to. I want to have fun. Maybe I should drive a vehicle that looks like it belongs to someone who has played Seven Minutes in Heaven with a celebrity. My heart skips at the thought.

“I. Love. It. Can we take it out now?” I’m bobbing in my flip flops when I ask. I don’t recognize myself.

Anders chuckles. “Hop in.” He turns to my mom, “We’re going to go out for a little birthday ride. Would you mind keeping an eye on Hairy for us?”

“Sure thing. Have fun, you two. Don’t stay out too late.”

I can tell from her tone that we’ll be having a long conversation later. I cringe, thinking about how I’ll explain the closet incident. Oh well. That’s tomorrow’s problem. It’s still my birthday, and tonight is for Jeeping. I’m not sure that’s a word, but I’m making it one. Anders helps Imogen climb into the back, where a special seat is already strapped in place for her. While he buckles her in, I make crazy eyes at my family and wave goodbye.

I taunt in mock-whisper, “See ya, suckers! I’m going Jeeping with Anders Beck!”

Mercer groans. “You’re a scumbag. Details. I’m getting all of the details tonight when you get home.”

“Ugh! What is your life right now?” Goldie whines.

My other sisters are silent behind their Chesire grins.

“Be safe,” Joe says, with a look to Anders. “Be careful with her—” He is cut off by Indie, who hooks an arm around his neck and leans up to his ear. He looks none too pleased with whatever she says, but it silences him. Man, am I grateful to have her on my side.

My family wanders back toward the house as I make my way to the passenger door—well, there is no door, it’s more like a passenger opening. Or portal. I’m about to climb through the passenger portal when Anders slides in front of me, hoisting himself into the seat before I can.

“You’re driving,” he orders.

I climb through the driver’s side portal, buckle in, and turn the key in the ignition. My foot is on the brake and my shaky hand is on the gearshift when I realize I’ve overlooked something critical.

“This thing is a manual?”

“Of course.”

“I—” I fiddle with the thing. “I don’t know how to drive one of these.”

“Oh.” His mouth twists to the side in thought. “I’ll teach you real quick. No biggie.”

I appreciate that almost everything is “no biggie” to this man—no problem is too impossible and no mountain unclimbable. It makes me feel like I can do the things that scare me. I also wonder something: Am I standing in my own way sometimes? If I tried Anders’ method of assuming everything will work out and life will be easy, maybe it will? Maybe instead of assuming worst case scenarios, I can consider what’s the best that can happen? But… if I don’t catastrophize, I’ll be unprepared for those eventualities. Catastrophizing is a tough job, but someone has to do it. I shove these thoughts in a mental box to examine later.

Anders clears his throat, dragging me back to the present.

I smile, nervous but willing to try his way of living—at least in this small way. “Okay. What do I do?”

He gives me a quick rundown of how to drive a stick shift and I try my hardest to concentrate. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of Anders Beck’s Jeep, after all. It's asking a lot.

But he helps me through the tricky parts, Immy giggles every time I stall the engine, and twenty minutes later we’re roaring through the open desert with the rain-scented wind whipping through our hair. Anders' deep voice gently reminds me when to let off the gas, push the clutch, and shift gears until I mostly have the hang of it. Immy zonks out quickly in the back seat, so I don’t feel too bad keeping her out late.

We’re at a four-way stop in the middle of nowhere, with sagebrush on every side, and I’m feeling proud of the fact that I downshifted and stopped without incident. I send up a silent prayer of gratitude for a compassionate transmission, braided hair, and my charmed life in general.

“What are you doing?” Anders asks through a laugh.

“Stopping?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a four-way stop?”

“We’ll be abducted by aliens before we see another car out here.”

“It’s the law,” I scoff. I’m feeling like a mega-nerd at the moment, but I hate losing a debate more than I hate being a nerd. In fact, I’m leaning into it. I push my glasses up my nose to complete the effect. I take my foot off the brake and slowly release the clutch. We’re rolling, but then I press the gas pedal a hair too fast and the Jeep shudders.

“Criminy, Jeeping Beauty,” I mutter. “You big, pink drama queen.” Eventually, we lurch through the intersection, barely avoiding a stalled engine. Poor Jeeping Beauty. She doesn’t deserve this abuse.

Anders just smiles and drapes his big arm around the back of my seat. Then I feel his fingers sliding through the loose hair at the nape of my neck. “I kinda like you, Sunflower,” he murmurs so quietly, I’m not sure whether I heard him right. His warm hand rests around the back of my neck, and the weight of it is the perfect mixture of comforting and exciting. His strong fingers softly knead the tense muscles there and I realize, this is the best birthday I will ever have. Nothing can ever top this.

We drive aimlessly for miles, down back roads, past the reservoir where the air turns chilly, and around the red sandstone cliffs that overlook my tiny town. Anders and I talk about everything— movies and TV shows, our high school years, our families, past boyfriends and girlfriends. This part of the conversation is an eye-opener. I laugh out loud when Anders tells me he rarely dates and hasn’t had a girlfriend since his divorce.

He shakes his head. “As far as the general public knows, Anders Beck has a different woman on his arm every week. I’m still typecast as a womanizer because in the early days of my career, that’s exactly what I was. But Cassidy motivated me to get clean. Healing from my brief, but toxic, relationship with her has led to me dating the way you drive—safe, slow, and within very specific parameters.” I can hear his grin in his voice.

“That makes sense.” I don’t care that he’s insulted my driving because he’s not wrong. It only takes one terrible accident to make a gal hypervigilant on the road. It sounds like the same principle holds true in Anders’ relationships.

He continues, “Ollie has taken it upon himself to make sure I stay sober, but he arranges one-off dates for publicity. We let the public think what they need to think about me to sell the roles I play, but hopefully all of that will end soon. That’s a big reason I need this current project to go well. But yeah, I rarely date anymore—it’s too dangerous.” He drags his thumb across the back of my neck, sending a shiver down to my toes.

I have to agree. The man is dangerous.

He goes on. “I’ve made too many mistakes with too many women, so I’ve been in recovery… Until…”

Oh, he is finishing that sentence. “Until what?” I prod.

“Until you. I can’t help myself with you.”

“I was in that closet, too. It takes two.” I won’t let him take all of the blame for this.

He groans, running a hand down his face. “Okay, tell me about your favorite music now.”

Our conversation moves to lighter topics, and I’m surprised by how much we have in common. We agree that cereal is the superior snack, although we bicker about the best brand. Anders really is a Captain Crunch Berries guy, but the correct answer is Quaker Oatmeal Squares. Midway through the cereal discussion, his hand moves from massaging my neck to my knee and I almost squeal with joy.

Now we’re losing our breath, laughing and imitating Oliver as Darth Vader, when I check Immy in the rear-view mirror. She’s slumped against the side of her seat, deeply asleep. I love the way her mouth hangs open when she’s really out like this.

“She’s still asleep,” I say with a gesture to the back seat. “We should probably take her home.”

He sighs. “I guess we should.”

“Okay.” I drag out the word and ease my foot off the gas pedal. I’m in no rush.

I catch Anders’ smirk in my periphery. He squeezes my knee and something about the gesture feels like reassurance. The night is over, but this isn’t over. We drive back to the resort in silence, except for the sounds of the Jeep shifting gears and Anders calling my mother to ask her to dog-sit Hairy for the night.

We park next to the pathway that leads to the suite and I turn off the Jeep. “This was…” I bite my lip. I can’t say everything I’m thinking; any sane man would run for the hills. But I have to say something. “You've made this the best birthday I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

His eyes are dark in the moonlight, but I feel them on me. His voice is low. “It isn’t over.” His hand moves to mine and he laces our fingers together. “I still have another gift for you, remember?”

I gasp. “Oooo! The inside gift! I forgot!” I unbuckle my seatbelt.

“Not so fast,” he whispers. “Let’s do it here. I don’t think we should go inside.”

“Why not? Isn’t it an inside gift?”

He chuckles. “The Jeep was the outside gift. This other thing can be an anywhere gift, really. ”

I reach over and unbuckle his seat belt. “Okay, then. I choose inside.”

He squeezes my fingers. “I think you and I should probably stay outside where it’s safe…” He trails off, his eyes searching mine.

“Safe?” I’m not following.

“Safe.” His eyes are intense. There’s some hidden meaning here that I’m not picking up on. He sighs at my lost expression. “Sunny,” he groans in that husky voice of his.

“What?” Why is it safer out here? What am I missing? If anything, we’re ten times safer inside than we are in this conspicuous Jeep. As fun as it is, it's a terrible option for someone trying to protect his daughter’s privacy. Hopefully the locals don’t put two and two together.

He throws his hands up, obviously exasperated. He lets out a long breath and searches my eyes for something. Then, he cups my cheek with his large hand. He’s still searching my face. He’s asking a question with no words.

“Sunny.” His thumb strokes a long, slow line across cheek and back. “I need to get my head on straight.”

Oh?

Oh .

Wow, I’m slow tonight.

Blood rushes to my cheeks as his meaning finally registers. I’m embarrassed that it took me so long to catch up, but it’s just so unbelievable that Anders would need to get his head on straight around me. This can’t be real.

I slide my glasses back into place, “Okay. Let’s do it right here, then.” I hate how breathy my voice sounds.

Anders growls and gently covers my mouth with his hand. “Just… please. Don’t say anything else. Give me a second.” He wrestles his phone out of his pocket and types a bunch of things. “Okay. Look at this. ”

He passes his phone to me and the screen is open to a website for a huge… hotel? “What am I looking at?”

“This is your other birthday gift. There’s a short—super short—break in filming the weekend after next and I thought it would be fun for you to try out this place. It’s supposed to be good. I booked a two-night stay for you and a friend.” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “You deserve it after everything you’ve done for Immy and me.”

“Um… this is way too much, Anders.” I scan the screen. “Wait. It’s in Minnesota? I have work to do here, and a resort to run. I can’t go to Minnesota.”

He chuckles. “Of course you can. I’ll have Immy. You have the weekend off. And the best part? I’m flying you there. I have a plane,” he announces with a waggle of his eyebrows, like he’s a little boy bragging about his bike.

A plane ride, a weekend away when we have a resort full of influential people, traveling with Anders Beck. My mind is a whirlwind of worries and happy possibilities. I’m trying not to think of the worst-case-scenario reasons why I shouldn’t galavant to Minnesota with this man.

Ultimately, his pride and excitement over this gift is contagious. The reality that I get to fly for the first time in my life, and with Anders, sinks in. I practically dive into the passenger seat and throw my arms around his neck before I think about what I’m doing.

“Oof,” he says into my hair. “Is this a yes?”

“Uh-huh,” I say into the fabric of his shirt, with a long, greedy inhale of his cologne. “Thank you, Anders. You kind of overdid it.”

His warm arms tighten around my back. “It’s not close to enough for the woman taking care of my children.”

“Child.”

“Don’t forget Hairy.” His hand rubs a line from my shoulders to my waist, where his fingers stop and press into my t-shirt .

“For Hairy, you owe me a month in Bora Bora.” I shift closer. I’m dying to feel his beard scratch the soft skin on my neck again. I should probably get out of this Jeep.

“Done,” he murmurs, his hands still pressing tight on my back. “Now, I’m taking Imogen inside. We’re all going to get some good sleep and stay out of trouble.” His stern tone would be laughable if it wasn’t so sexy.

I sigh, disentangling myself from our hug. “Probably a good idea.”