Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

“Nope.”

He shrugged and set his phone next to his plate. “So, I was thinking. We should chart a course the rest of the way to LA. Find the route with the least snow.”

“What are you talking about? We only need to get to an airport. Preferably one with a working runway.”

Wyatt stilled. Apparently that idea never crossed his mind. “Oh. I...I don’t have enough for another plane ticket.”

“Didn’t you get your travel voucher? The airline owes us.”

“Uh, no. I ran straight to the car rentals.”

This guy. Seriously.

“Well, I’m sure your name is on a list. Just show your I.D.” I took a bite of my club sandwich. “This needs avocado.”

Wyatt nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m just going to go check on Reeses.” He slid out of the booth taking a piece of bacon with him. The restaurant manager let us keep the dog tied up in the vestibule. Wyatt had set his coat on a bench and Reeses made himself comfortable, only perking up for some belly rubs every time a customer walked in.

The waitress came by to refill my water. “What’s your dog’s name?”

He wasn’t my dog, but I didn’t feel like correcting her. “Reeses.”

“Awww. That’s cute. Like a sweet little peanut butter cup. Did you name him or did your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

Her gaze flickered to my fake diamond ring. “Sorry. Husband.” She tossed her head around to look at Wyatt. “I sure wish I had a fella that had eyes for me the way that man looks at you. He ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin’. It’s written on his face plain as day. You’re one lucky gal.” She winked and fluttered away. She was cute but her unsolicited advice was way off. Did I look like I cared if my man went anywhere? Not that Wyatt was my man or anything.

He returned with a bright smile, that dimple making another appearance amid his afternoon scruff.

Written on his face, huh? Balderdash.

We ate in silence for some time, stealing food off one another’s plates. That diner really rocked those onion rings. Wyatt checked his phone every few minutes to see if the mechanic had called. It was getting late and once the sun set, the roads would get icier. But I had to get to L.A. even if that meant taking a red-eye.

After a while I excused myself to the single-stall restroom. I looked into the mirror while washing my hands, the words of that waitress repeating in my mind. The way that man looks at you. Was my face telling a story just because I thought my road trip companion was kinda handsome? Did I notice the defined biceps peeking out of his t-shirt sleeve? Or the dusting of dark hair along his rugged forearms? Or those thick, calloused fingertips?

Maybe.

For a split second, right after he caught me, there was a spark. Just a teeny tiny ember. Probably brought on by the position we found ourselves in, and partly because he sort of saved me. In that minuscule moment, a thousand thoughts ran through my head. That maybe I wasn’t as damaged as before. That I didn’t have to live my life in fear. That I could trust again.

But then the rental car took a nosedive and I decided trust was overrated.

“Get over yourself, Georgie,” I told my reflection. “It’s just the onion rings talking.”

I tapped my toe and sang along to the Christmas music piped into the bathroom. It was the instrumental version of Sleigh Bells but I considered it my own personal orchestra as I combed my fingers through my hair to build up courage to get out there and act casual in front of Wyatt.

Giddyup let’s go.

Fueled with confidence, I reached for the doorknob and turned the lock. The door didn’t budge. Had I forgotten to lock it that whole time only to just lock it now? I switched it back. The knob didn’t turn this time. Back again. The knob turned but the door wouldn’t open. I pulled and jiggled and pulled some more. Nothing.

I scanned the whole door. Maybe there was a latch somewhere? Nope no latch. That’s when panic set in. I could be stuck in this bathroom indefinitely. I pounded the door and cried out. “Help. I can’t get out.” This was a new low for me. More pounding. “Hello? Anybody?”

It was no use. The ladies room was at the end of a long hallway and there was no way anybody could hear me over the jolly holiday music. It was The Nightmare Before Christmas toilet edition. Who knew what magical land that door would lead to next? Was the Oogie Boogie Man on the other side?

I didn’t let up, pounding and calling out relentlessly. Surely someone would come along eventually. I noticed several other women in the diner. At least one of them would have to pee soon.

Several minutes passed. It could have been three. It could have been twenty. Hard to tell. I’d almost given up, my forehead pressed against the door, only a feeble wish holding me there.

A tap tap tap jolted me. “Honey, are you in there?” It was the waitress. A jiggle of the doorknob.

“Yes!” I cried. Jubilate Deo. “I’m stuck in here.”

“Don’t you worry, darlin’. This happens all the time.”

All the time? Then why wasn’t there a warning on the door or something?

“You see that big piece of wood in the corner there?”

I turned. A beveled plank rested against the wall behind the sink.

“Yeah.”

“Wedge that under the door.”

I followed her instructions.

“Now kick it in until it lifts the door an inch or two.”

I kicked that sucker.

“Now what?”

“Stand outta the way.”

Next thing I know, the door’s flying open. The waitress grinned at me and slapped her hip.

“Strongest part of my body,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“No worries. Most folks around here know how to deal with that ol’ door. When I saw your hubby sittin’ all by his lonesome for a long time, I figured where you’d gone off to.”

How very observant. I made a mental note to leave