7/15/12

Queens

“Let the River Run” was on the radio in the cab. Of course it was. It was a hazy day, and I could just barely see the Empire State Building from the curlicued exit ramp as the cab inched toward LaGuardia. There was no escaping New York, mentally or physically.

Brian made a face as he craned his neck to see past traffic. “We totally should’ve left sooner.” His voice slid up and down in a passable autotune impression. “I reeeeeally hate this aiiiiirport.”

I smirked in spite of myself. “OK…B-Pain.”

“B-Pain. I’ll have to try that one on for size. B-Rok’s kinda showing its age.” He grinned and pinched my leg. “Good call, Miz Michaels.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

On the radio, Carly Simon was imploring us: Come run with me now, the sky is the color of blue you’ve never even seen in the eyes of your lover… I stole a glance at Brian, at his sky-blue eyes lit up by the mid-afternoon sunlight that streamed into the cab. He was so, so handsome, and I still had to pinch myself more often than not, that he was mine and I, of all people, was his. I found myself memorizing his chiseled profile, his dimples, every hair on his head, as I did every time one of us put the other on a plane back to reality.

It was a much bigger question mark today when I’d next see him. When the guys had first decided on this open-ended recording trip, he’d talked casually of flying me over to see London and him. If I was out of work much longer, it still wasn’t out of the question. But nothing felt certain now. A lump swelled in my throat, and I reached over and squeezed his knee, harder than I’d intended, so that he looked quizzically at me.

“I’ll miss you, goofball.” The words came out shakier than I’d expected.

He reached over to pull me close, an arm around my waist, and kissed my forehead. “I know. I’ll miss you, too.”

I closed my burning eyes. “Kick the guys out of the room for some of those Skype dates.”

His voice dropped. “Oh, well, if they’re those kinds of Skype dates, I’ll have to bust out some of the old moves.” He started gyrating against me, which turned into gyrating against the door when I laughed and pushed him away, as he sang: “If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a…”

The cabbie threw the cab violently into park and glowered at us in the rearview mirror from under a flat, weathered brown cap. “Get out.”

Brian looked out the window. “This…this isn’t the international terminal.” The cabbie continued to stare him down in the mirror until he sighed and pulled out his wallet.

“Way to go, Littrell,” I said, sliding across the worn leather seat and letting myself out.

“You started it.” He opened the trunk and started pulling out his suitcases. “Talkin’ about Skype sex in front of the cabbie. Have you even seen Taxi Driver?”

“Would you prefer I talk about it in front of the other guys?” I grabbed one suitcase, ignoring his protests, and wrestled it onto the sidewalk.

Brian shuddered as he grabbed the other suitcase. “You wanna talk about Skype sex, talk to A.J. That sick bastard. I think we decided we’re sending him to a hotel when he wants to call the wife.”

It wasn’t a horrible walk to the international terminal, but striding through the sleek white airport was a distraction in itself. I started whistling “I Want It That Way” under my breath, and he just shook his head at me.

“Kind of weird with no screaming fans, isn’t it?” I said lightly.

He didn’t say anything for so long that I assumed he hadn’t heard me. Finally, as we got in line for the baggage check, he looked at me hard for a long moment. “Maybe next year, Meg,” he muttered. “Maybe next year.”

I looked down at the suitcase handle, pushing the suitcase with my toe as the line moved. It was how I’d first fallen in love with him, back when I hardly knew what that meant and couldn’t imagine what it would truly mean one day. I could have been one of those screaming girls on the tarmac.

Now I hated the thought of sharing him with the world. And I hated myself a little for thinking that. I wanted him to be happy and successful, but I knew how desperately he wanted a life, too. And I knew how much likelier he was to get that than he was to get an airport full of screaming girls ever again.

“You want me to stand in the front row? I’ll get a sign that says, ‘Marry Me, B-Rok,’” I finally said, grinning at him. I made a show of digging around in my purse. “Here, let me find something to write on.”

It was meant to be a joke, but he greeted it with his private little smile for me. “Don’t say that until you mean it, girl. You don’t even wanna live with me.”

I knew that, too, was a joke, but he had no idea what was going on in my head today, how bloody was the mental battle that had started last night. I just elbowed him gently and dragged the suitcase another few feet.

We took our time walking to the international security line from baggage check, fingers tangled together, my heart in my throat. It was no use ripping off this Band-Aid. People were rushing past us in both directions, but in the distance, I could see that security wasn’t horrendously busy, a Friday afternoon miracle. We had a few more precious minutes together.

“You’re absolutely sure you don’t want cab money?” Brian asked me. “You came a long way with me.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m meeting Alicia for dinner in Alphabet City. I’ll just get on the subway.”

Brian stopped walking abruptly, dropped his carry-on bag and wrapped his arms around me tightly without another word. I couldn’t breathe for the lump in my throat. I buried my face in his shoulder, savoring how his body felt against mine, how we fit together, even as innocently as this. We were the only people in the airport. We were the only people in New York. My eyes filled with tears that spilled readily onto his blanket-soft green T-shirt.

“I love you so much,” he said after a long moment, pressing his lips to my forehead.

“I love you, too.” I cleared my throat and pulled back to look up into his eyes. “Um, good luck, break a leg, whatever applies here. Give the guys…give them my love. I’m really proud of you.” My voice broke on the last words.

He smiled down at me, wiping my tears with his thumbs. “That means more than you know.”

I laid my head on his shoulder again and stared out the window of the terminal as he stroked my hair. The Empire State Building was staring me down again, a little clearer than it had been half an hour ago, but still a fuzzy gray in the mid-afternoon sun. Silver cities rise, the morning lights, the streets that meet them... The skyline seemed to be singing to me itself. Come run with me now, the sky is the color of blue you’ve never even seen in the eyes of your lover.

The problem was, that sky was nowhere as good as the eyes of my lover.

I’d always have these images in my head, the countless photographs I’d taken, the memories. New York would always be my town. But I was just one of millions and millions of people who’d fallen in love with it. It would never love a single one of us back. It was already chewing me up and spitting me out where I stood.

And Jesus Christ, I couldn’t keep doing this with Brian, stealing nights and crying in airports when they ended. Maybe I’d always have to, but there had to be a better way than this.

Without really stopping to consider my words and what they meant, I looked up at him again and blurted out in a rush, “I can totally get that LEO job. I’ll move. I’ll…move to Louisville.”

He stared down at me dumbly, his eyes not comprehending my sudden reversal. I wasn’t sure I totally did, either.

I shrugged. “I want you to come home to me, too. I guess I should probably be where you call home, huh?”

He hugged me again, so tightly that I thought my ribs flexed. “OK. Um. You need to keep me posted. I’ll fly back for a few days to meet you there. I don’t care where we are with recording.”

“Is that all it takes to get you to come see me?” I teased him, even as my voice broke again.

“Shut up and let me kiss you.” He pulled back swiftly, cupped my face in his hands and gave me a long, searing kiss, definitely a “shut up and let me kiss you” kind of kiss, one that curled my toes and made me grab onto his upper arms to keep my balance.

When we finally came up for air, his eyes were very bright, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

“You are where I call home, sweet girl.” He kissed my forehead, my lips, my cheeks, my hands as I pressed them to his cheeks.

Then he was picking up his bag and walking away, glancing over his shoulder every few yards. I wrapped my arms around myself and watched him until he disappeared through security.

It would be a long few months with him overseas, but they had a purpose now. I was already writing the cover letter in my head, already formulating my words for the call to my mother and the dinner with Alicia, already planning the unbelievable next step.

8/10/12: 8:03 a.m.

Staten Island

I turned to Alicia as she flipped on the blinker mid-turn. “Aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I promise we’re not.” She navigated expertly up the side streets, away from the apartment that was no longer mine.

When the back of the borough hall came into view, I realized where she was going. “Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. So much nope.” I reached for the wheel. “Come on, Lee. That’s not cool.”

She drove slowly past the ferry terminal. It was early Friday morning, and commuters were walking up the sidewalk, streaming out of buses. I pressed a hand to the window. I wanted to touch their shoulders, to stop them and shake them and tell them not to take that boat for granted, that view, that golden opportunity.

Just past the minor-league baseball stadium, Alicia swerved into a parking space. I stared out at the city, close enough to touch. Only God knew when I would see this view again, the view I had called home for the last four years, almost to the day. It was already blurring before my eyes.

“Really not cool,” I said, my voice already unsteady.

Alicia was thumbing through her iPod, connected to the ancient dash by an aux cable that felt miraculous. “C’mon. Get it all out.”

She set the iPod back on the dash, and a lonely piano filled the car, followed by Alicia Keys’ voice: Oooooh, New York…

“That’s a bitch move.” The words came out on a sob.

Grew up in a town that was famous as a place for movie scenes… I stared out at the window, tears streaming down my face. It didn’t matter where I was going. A piece of my heart would always be here, and now, finally, it was being ripped from me today. I leaned my forehead against the glass and memorized every ripple of the water, every brick, every window of lower Manhattan. I wouldn’t be here to see the new One World Trade Center finished. I still hadn’t been to the museum.

I could have spent my entire life here and learned something new about its mean, beautiful streets every single day. I’d thought for sure I would. Dammit. I ripped the pink bandana out of my hair and dabbed my eyes.

If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, that’s what they say…

Another sniffle came not from me, but from the other side of the cab. I looked over at Alicia, whom I’d never seen cry in more than a decade of friendship, but who was wiping her eyes under her well-worn Yankees cap.

“I’m only gonna say this one more time.” Her voice was watery. “This is a bunch of bullshit. I know you have to do it, but I hate it.”

The chorus swelled, a slowed-down version of “Empire State of Mind.” Of course. I nodded. “I’ll miss you, Lee.”

She pressed her hand to the back of her mouth, wiping her eyes again. “I’ll miss you, too, Peggy Jo.” She waved a hand out at the harbor. “But that? That’s not gonna miss you. It’ll always be here, but it’s not gonna miss you. It’s not gonna love you back. He’s gonna love you back. He already does. I don’t think he’s ever gonna stop. He’s…” Her face crumpled.

Fresh tears filled my eyes. I nodded again. “I know.” I stared out at the city again. “But I’m gonna miss this so much.”

The drums came in, and it was hard to be sad. We looked at each other and giggled nervously, the other extreme on the emotional spectrum. Alicia reached over and squeezed my hand, and then she threw the truck into drive and rejoined the traffic flowing past us.

The song ended, and “Movin’ Right Along” from The Muppet Movie filled the cab as we inched along Richmond. I giggled again as I re-tied my bandana. “This is your famous road trip playlist?”

“With a few special additions, obviously.” Alicia grinned over at me. There was a bravery in her smile that, I noticed, didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re gonna have fun. We should have done this 10 years ago.”

“Liar.” I shook my head at her.

Alicia sighed. “You know me too well. I feel like I’m driving my kid to college.”

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the truck. “Who brings a whole U-Haul to college?”

“My roommate in Pershing did.” Alicia leaned over and craned her neck, trying to see past traffic. “A legit trailer on the back of her dad’s Blazer. I don’t know where she thought she was gonna put all those clothes. Maybe she thought our room was the TARDIS.”

“From everything you’ve said about your freshman-year roommate, I seriously doubt she knew what a TARDIS was.” I reached into my purse and pulled out two Clif bars, tearing the wrapper on both and passing one to Alicia. “Whatever happened to that ol’ bitch?”

“She lives somewhere around Kansas City. She probably married a rich guy. Last time I hate-read her Facebook page, she couldn’t wait for her kid to start kindergarten so she’d have that big ol’ house to herself.” Alicia smirked. “We’re old, you know that?”

“Definitely not getting any younger.”

I took a huge bite of my Clif bar and tried not to look out at the city again. It was in the past. The future was on the other end of this drive.

9:10 p.m.

Louisville

Snow Patrol on the stereo was the only sound in the car. The insistent, repetitive guitar chord of “Open Your Eyes” was a good match for my pounding heart.

“Turn right on Aberdeen Drive,” Siri chirped. I flipped on the blinker and twirled the loose wheel, turning onto a street that already felt as familiar as old jeans even in the dark. Especially in the dark.

The future was not 300 or 600 miles from now. The future was now.

“Lee, wake up.” I reached over and swatted Alicia’s foot as she dozed on the other side of the cab. “We’re here.”

She blinked and sat up, stretching her arms. “Nice,” she said as Brian’s neighbors’ houses rolled by. “Remind me why you’re getting an apartment?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Real original.”

I put the truck in park in front of Brian’s house. The front window glowed softly. My heart turned over in my chest. She had a point. This was home now, on some level. It always would be now.

Every minute from this minute now, we can do what we like anywhere…

Alicia reached over and honked the horn, as if for good measure. “Really?” I said. She just shot me a mischievous grin.

I pulled the keys out of the ignition and collected my phone and purse, then opened the door and slowly climbed down out of the cab. The night was humid and still, a few stars visible beyond the greenish streetlamps, a frog croaking in the distance.

As I rounded the front of the truck, the front door opened, and Brian walked out. My mouth stretched into a smile that I couldn’t control. He was wearing a ratty old T-shirt and athletic shorts, and he’d swapped out his contacts for glasses, but he had never looked better to me. His eyes met mine, and he broke into a grin that lit up the night. He jogged the rest of the way across the front lawn and wrapped his arms tight around my waist. My feet left the ground.

“Hi.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “See, we came home to each other.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I didn’t dare risk it breaking under the weight of this joy, so pure, so bright that I thought my heart might explode. All the tears, the angst, the second-guessing, the arguing – it all floated away. Nothing, nothing, could beat this moment.

“We did.” He kissed my forehead, then my lips, as he set me down. “Is that OK? Can I say, ‘Welcome home’?” I nodded wordlessly, laying my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, and he pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Welcome home, sweet girl.”

The other cab door slammed, and Alicia’s voice came from behind me, a bit rough. “OK, you guys, break it up.”

Brian let go of me, slowly, and hugged Alicia hello. “Good to see you. You keep this one out of trouble?”

Alicia winked at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, she’s only gotten three speeding tickets in the last hour.”

We opened up the back door of the U-Haul just enough to retrieve our suitcases. The rest of it was, I supposed, going to sit here until I could get into an apartment. I shuddered at the late fees, but it didn’t seem worth getting a storage unit for what could be less than a week.

Inside the house, Alicia set down her suitcase and looked around, her eyes wide and appreciative. “Nice, Brian. Very nice.”

Brian had one hand on the small of my back, his thumb tracing circles through my T-shirt. “I do my best.”

Alicia pulled out her phone and looked at the time. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, or an old lady, but I’m exhausted. You won’t be offended if I just go to bed, will you?”

“I spent a whole day with you.” I jerked a thumb at Brian. “Worry about him.”

Brian shrugged. “I mean, if you don’t want to stay up all night and play poker…” Alicia glared at him, even though I could see the corners of her mouth twitching, and he snickered. “OK. We’ll show you to the guest room.”

I faked a yawn and stretched my arms into the air as I followed them down the hall. “Come to think of it, I should probably hit the hay, too. Those last three hours in the dark were a doozy.” I cleared my throat meaningfully. “You must be pretty tired, too, Brian.”

“It has been kinda hard staying awake all evening,” he said as he opened the guest room door. “Jet lag and all that.”

Our eyes met, and the look in his curled my toes. My heart sped up.

Alicia looked between us and scoffed out loud. “You two ain’t gonna win any Oscars.” She held up a hand to stop the fight we weren’t really putting up. “Don’t worry. I brought earplugs.”

I hugged Alicia. “Thanks for today. You’re right. We should have done that years ago.”

“Yep. Good game.” She patted my back. “Make good choices.”

As soon as the door closed behind Alicia, I looked up at Brian. He leered down at me.

“I’m gonna take you to bed and love on you till you can’t move,” he said out loud, frankly.

Alicia shouted through the door, “God, at least give me a minute to find my earplugs!”

I ignored her. I smelled like sweat and rented truck, and my muscles were cramped, but dammit, he knew just what to say. This time, I knew, it wasn’t just the time apart. It was the commitment I’d made, we’d made. I bit my lip and lowered my head to look up at him through my eyelashes, warmth already spreading through my body.

“Is that right?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer, but cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, slowly at first, softly, then with an unexpected passion that made me stumble backward. I didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, hands creeping up his back to hold on for dear life. When we broke apart, he grabbed me around the legs, just under my ass, and hoisted me over his shoulder. I grinned at the floor as we made our way to his bedroom.

This time, I was home.

8/13/12

Louisville

“I have a confession to make.”

LEO’s managing editor leaned back in his chair, his fingers twirling a pen in a routine that would have made a professional baton twirler blush in shame. He was probably in his early 40s, though his short-sleeved plaid shirt and horn-rimmed glasses suggested a hipster half that age. His thick black hair was sprinkled generously with gray, his face pallid under an almost totally silver beard. The ancient fake-wood nameplate on his desk read: David L. House.

“I didn’t actually get in touch with your references yet,” Dave went on. “They seem to be hard guys to get to return a phone call.” He straightened up. “So lemme ask you, what do you think they’d say about you?”

I blinked. Not that I’d been on a whole mess of job interviews, but that was one question that had never been in any interview prep article I’d ever read. They’d told me how to get the wrinkles out of my gray pantsuit, which seemed bigger than when I’d started at Rolling Stone. They’d told me to sit up straight, to speak slowly, to bring an extra resume, to spit out my gum before I walked in. They’d never told me to put words in the mouths of the bosses who’d come before.

“I think my Riverfront Times editor,” I said, naming my first job in St. Louis, “would tell you that I excelled at covering a variety of beats, and that I hit the ground running and never really stopped.” I thought of Thomas, his gruffness, his demands, his trust. “I think my Rolling Stone editor would tell you,” I went on, slowly, “that there was no story I was too good for. That I was a storyteller and a talented writer. That I was good at building relationships in the newsroom and on the beat.”

Dave was nodding slowly, like a bobblehead, scribbling something on the yellow legal pad in front of me. He clicked his pen and smiled up at me. “That’s really good information. Thanks. Do you have any questions right now?”

I shook my head. I’d had a handful after our phone interview last week, but I’d gotten those out of the way when I’d shown up.

“All right.” He stood up from his chair, and I did, too. “Do you want to talk to the arts writer?”

I nodded, straightened my back. “Yes, please.”

I followed him back out to the newsroom. It was a gloriously, maybe intentionally shabby throwback, wood-paneled walls that contrasted with the building’s sleek white façade, the air redolent with that unmistakable newsroom smell of ink and BO. Late-morning sunlight streamed through the plate glass windows, illuminating the heads that turned to follow us. I made eye contact with a guy with a red ponytail who nodded in greeting and flashed a quick smile, with a black woman with short-cropped blonde hair who gave me an encouraging wink.

Dave stopped next to a young woman with a black pixie cut and an earbud dangling across her angular shoulder. A press release and an iTunes window – Girl Talk – shared her laptop screen. She popped halfway out of her seat like a startled jack-in-the-box when Dave tapped her shoulder, but flashed a wide, easy grin up at us, yanking out her earbud and jumping to her feet. She was model-tall, wearing a red pencil skirt that might have reached a shorter woman’s knees, and her loose limbs suggested a teenager. I felt like I should be chugging an Ensure.

Dave gestured between us. “Kate King, Meg Michaels. Kate’s been with us a little while now,” he said to me. “She can tell you everything you need to know about the beat.”

Kate rolled her eyes, modestly. ”Well.” She gestured to her chair, perching on the edge of her desk, as Dave walked away. I sat, and the cheap foam gave easily beneath me.

“What can I tell you?” Kate shrugged. “I came here as an intern last January. Went full-time after graduation.”

I nodded. “And where’d you go to school?”

“U of L. I didn’t know I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up until I was already here.” She grinned. “Dave said you went to Mizzou. Lucky dog.” She pointed at the red-ponytailed guy. “Scott went to Mizzou. I think Mikey did, too, but he’s not here this morning.”

“Do a lot of people come here right out of school?” I asked.

“Um…I don’t know. There’s not really any kind of average person here. We’re a motley crew.” Kate rocked back and forth a bit, hands framing the edge of the desk on either side of her. She seemed like a ball of pent-up energy. Before I could stop myself, I wondered what managing her would be like, how I could make the best use of all that energy.

I changed the subject quickly. “What do you find yourself covering most?”

She laughed in disbelief. “God, everything. The art museum, random theater productions. That press release” – she jerked a thumb at her laptop – “is about the Hunter S. Thompson mural they’re trying to put downtown. Some book reviews… I don’t know. Everything that doesn’t fit anywhere else and isn’t ‘real news.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “But art is news, man. People want to read about what moves their soul, not about water main breaks and sh…stuff.” She seemed to catch herself just in time.

“I got my fill of ‘real news’ at my last gig,” I said, echoing her finger quotes, “so I understand.”

Kate rocked back and forth again. Her silver nose stud caught the tacky fluorescent light, and the grin she flashed down at me seemed to burst with a juicy secret. “Can I tell you something lame? I totally read you at Rolling Stone. I really want Dave to hire you. It would be a coup if you came to work here.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Kate,” I said, “I don’t want to say, ‘if I’m your boss,’ but if I’m your boss, will you promise not to fangirl over me?”

At that moment, Dave strolled back toward Kate’s desk, trailed by two women. One had shoulder-length gray hair and a weathered face; she wore a bright red statement necklace over a well-cut gray blouse. The other was probably about my age, with blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. I jumped up to join them, murmuring my thanks to Kate in passing.

Dave gestured to the gray-haired woman. “This is our executive editor, Mrs. Pynchon, I mean, Laura Moser.” He gave Laura a nervous sort of smile as she arched an eyebrow at him.

“Dave, stop trying to make the Lou Grant references happen. They’re not gonna happen.” Laura had a smoker’s voice, a low, gravelly drawl. She gave me a handshake so firm that I was momentarily afraid of her. “Meg, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We appreciate you coming out.” She didn’t let go of my hand. “What do you think?”

I smiled politely at Laura. “You’ve got a great paper here. A great crew. They sure seem to care about the news,” I said, shooting Kate a sidelong glance.

Laura patted my hand and finally released it. “I’m glad you like it. I wish I had more time to chat with you, but I’m just running off to chat with an advertiser.” She winked at me. “We wear a lot of hats these days, you know. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though.”

As she strode away, trailing a cloud of White Diamonds in her wake, Dave nodded toward the blonde woman. “And this is Sarah Mitchell. She’s in HR with us. I thought she could join us for a minute.”

Sarah shifted a manila folder to her other arm to shake my hand. “It’s great to meet you, Meg.”

Dave inclined his head toward a conference room. “Let’s chat.”

As we walked away, I caught Kate’s eye. She flashed me a thumbs-up and a smile that seemed to engage every muscle in her face and neck.

In the conference room, Dave gestured to the head of the table, and I sat. There were plaques on the wall, a photo of a balding guy with huge wire-rimmed glasses holding up what must have been the first print edition.

A conference room, an editor, an HR lady, a stack of papers. My heart kicked into high gear. Was this the universe’s idea of bookends?

Dave steepled his fingers on the table. “So, you like us?”

I smiled. “Yes. You guys seem pretty great.”

He grinned. “Wanna work here?”

My breath rushed out of me. “Yes,” I blurted out. I started laughing nervously, a sound dangerously close to a sob. I was a journalist again. I had taken the leap of faith, and my feet had hit the ground.

“I was hopin’ you’d say that.” Dave rose from his seat and offered a hand, which I shook.

Sarah slid a piece of paper across the table at me. “We…kinda thought you would, actually. So here’s your offer letter.”

I glanced down at the offer, printed on LEO letterhead. The salary number leapt off the page at me. It was at least $3,000 more than I’d asked for. I couldn’t stifle a small gasp.

I heard the smile in Sarah’s voice. “Not to shade your last employer, but we really believe in recruiting, rewarding and retaining around here.”

Dave snickered. He leaned across the table again, peeking at the paper. “That work for you?”

I found my voice. “Yes. All of it.”

“Good.” Dave smiled. “So can you start Monday? Before Kate explodes?”

I nodded, matched his smile. “I’ll be here with bells on.”

When Dave shook my hand at the front door 10 minutes later, offer letter in hand, Brian was idling the Jeep half a block away. He was reading something on his phone when I walked up to the car, so engrossed that when I slapped the offer letter up to the window, he jumped in his seat and dropped his phone. It took him a couple seconds to register what he was looking at, but when he did, he grinned and pumped his fist, and I thought I saw his mouth form a “YES!” I scrambled into the passenger seat, into the awkward across-the-car hug he offered.

“Awesome,” he said into my ear, kissing my cheek. “I knew you had this in the bag.”

I smiled. “I knew I was in good shape when the kid I’m gonna be supervising started fangirling over me.”

“So, do you start Monday?” He let go of me to fish his sunglasses out of the cup holder, put the car back into drive and pulled away from the curb.

I rolled my eyes as I wrestled out of my suit jacket. “No, Brian, I start this afternoon. I only got in the car so you’d know I wasn’t dead. Yes, I start Monday.”

He grinned, turning down the old soul music on the stereo. “Good. We have a few days.” The grin morphed into a leer as he flipped on the blinker and turned left. “For…stuff.”

“For finding me an apartment,” I corrected. “And hopefully getting rid of that U-Haul before I go broke. I thought we could go look at the schoolhouse one this afternoon.”

He grunted, annoyed. “That could not be any further from what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve been over this.” Something about figuring out what it was like not to be in a long-distance relationship with him, not wanting to be alone in that big house, not wanting Baylee to think I was Dad’s Floozy Girlfriend – it all spelled out only one possible resolution.

“All right, fine.” He looked over at me as he hit the gas on a yellow light. I couldn’t tell, with his sunglasses, if his smile reached his eyes. “If that’s what you want, I can’t really argue.”

“You’re good to me.” I reached over and squeezed his knee. “Are we gonna grab lunch?”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d want to change clothes first.”

I rolled my eyes again. “You just want me to take my clothes off.”

“Am I that transparent?” This time, I heard the smile in his voice.

When we pulled up to the house, I frowned at the unfamiliar SUV in the driveway, a red Ford Edge.

“Is somebody else here?” I asked Brian.

He shook his head as he pulled into the driveway next to it. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, then, whose car is that?” I pressed. He didn’t answer, just turned off the engine and got out of the Jeep. I scowled at him and got out as well, walking around the front of the Jeep.

He was standing in front of the red car, digging in his shorts pocket. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Realization washed over me. I stared at him in slack-jawed shock. “Brian. Fucking. Littrell.”

He grinned. “No, see, my middle name’s Thomas.”

My hands flew to the bottom half of my face. I stared at the car for a solid minute. I didn’t dare so much as breathe on it. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Finally, I reached out and halfheartedly swiped at Brian. It was meant to be a smack, but he caught my hand and pressed his lips to my open palm before wrapping an arm around me.

“Uh…congratulations? Happy birthday? Welcome home?” He kissed the top of my head. “You needed a car and you’re my girl and I’ll buy it for you if I damn well please?”

My train of thought was still boarding at the “happy birthday” station. “Brian, I gave you, like, chocolate-covered bacon for your birthday.”

“And every single piece of it was better than a car.” He picked up my dangling hand and dropped the keys into it. “Didn’t I tell you I was gonna make it up to you for shitting the bed on your last birthday?”

“You’re setting the bar awfully high.” I unlocked the car with shaking hands and peered inside. Tan leather seats. And were my eyes deceiving me, or did the radio say Sirius?

“You said you wanted a Ford,” I heard Brian say as I continued to ogle the car’s interior. “See, I listen.”

I ran a hand over the smooth leather. “How did you even get it here?”

He laughed. “Carefully.”

When I turned back to him, he was waggling his eyebrows at me. “Wanna christen it?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Littrell.” This time, I succeeded in smacking him lightly in the chest. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

He slipped his arms around my waist. “I think in most cultures, it’s ‘Thank you.’”

I squeezed his upper arms and kissed him. “Thank you, Brian. You are the best, and I love you, and I don’t deserve you.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “You’re very welcome, Meg.” He gave me that funny little just-for-me smile. “You deserve the best, but I love you, so you’re stuck with me.”