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

silent treatment wasn’t directed at me. He didn’t seem angry. Just...retrospective. We’d had a moment in the back alley of the restaurant. A heart to heart if you will. It took a lot of courage for him to admit to a stranger those things he said to me. Then again, we didn’t feel like strangers anymore. I thought we’d crossed some proverbial bridge. There was a connection there. He was as jolly as a North Pole elf. But when the police officers were taking our statements, I caught the moment when a shadow crossed Wyatt’s features. It was when the officer discovered who my famous brother was. I turned to find Wyatt’s eyes locked on me, glum and crestfallen by my lie of omission.

His face reminded me of those mimes in Manhattan who swipe smiles into frowns with a wave of a hand. I wanted to wave my hand in front Wyatt’s face to turn that frown upside down.

In my defense, the subject of last names never came up in the strange circumstances we found ourselves in. At least that’s what I told myself. In truth, I was tired of users. People who pretended to be my friend but only wanted to get at my famous brother.

Besides. What was I supposed to say to Wyatt while we were thrust in this weird situation anyway? Oh by the way, my brother is a movie star. Moving on.

As I watched Wyatt retreat farther into his thoughts, I told myself there must be some other explanation. Maybe he was trying hard not to burp or something.

He kicked his shoe against the edge of the asphalt, soooo enthralled by the uneven pavement.

Ah! Bumpy. So cool.

The highway went on for miles in each direction with nothing in sight. Just lots of flat flatness. And snow.

Then something caught my eye. About a hundred feet away, the road was littered with debris. Things I couldn’t quite make out were scattered here and there. Somebody was a litterbug. I tilted my head and took a few steps.

“Wait a minute.” I took a few more steps. “Wyatt, check this out.”

He came over followed by Reeses and before we knew it we were sprinting towards the debris. Except as we got closer, we discovered that stuff was more than just trash. There were empty wallets and purses, a ripped up denim jacket, a discarded cigarette package, a lipstick, and lots of miscellaneous wrappers and papers.

“As if robbery wasn’t enough, let’s make it interesting by trashing the highway,” I deadpanned.

Wyatt went around picking up the items with his one hand. I joined in to help him.

“You wanna bring this stuff back?” I suggested, even though I didn’t want to.

“No. Let’s just consolidate it and pile it on the side of the road out of the way of passing cars.”

“Good idea,” I agreed.

It took longer to pick stuff up one-handed, but neither one of us wanted to set down our sodas for some reason. Then I found a phone. Cracked screen, scuffs all over.

“Is this yours?” I held it up for Wyatt to see.

His face lit up. “Yeah.”

“Maybe your luck is turning around,” I said.

“Doubtful.” He turned it over in his hand. “It’s even more cracked than before. And the case is missing.”

“Does it work?”

He tapped it, raising his brows. “Actually, yeah.”

“Maybe we can find your wallet,” I said, hopeful.

“And your purse.”

I shook my head. “Everything was inside my carry-on. I’d have found it by now.”

We kept on down the road, picking up stuff as we got farther and farther away from the turnoff to the little town. It occurred to me we’d get to California faster by walking if we’d have just avoided all the modes of transportation we’d attempted.

We reached what appeared to be the end of the items discarded out of the robber’s window. Wyatt’s wallet wasn’t on the road. We’d just made the last pile of stuff when a rickety black truck came down the highway, slowing down when we were in sight and stopping right by us. There was a cobra painted on the hood.

A middle-aged man rolled down the window, taking in the sight of all the litter. He had wild eyes. It was a little scary. “What’s goin’ on here?” His voice was more of a growl.

I spoke up. “Just cleaning the highway.”

He squinted, thick salt-and-pepper brows furrowed over his eyes. “Why?”

“We care about the environment?”

Then Wyatt stepped in front of me, a small gesture, but a protective one just the same. “We were robbed and hoping to find some of our things.”

The man nodded thoughtfully, glancing back at the turnoff to the tiny town. “At the pie place back there?”

“Yes,” Wyatt and I said in unison.

“Sounds about right. Happens every year.”

So we’d been told.

“Listen,” I said, hoping for answers. This guy had a seriously ominous vibe going on but he seemed to know what was up around these parts. “Do you know if there are any more busses scheduled to come by? We missed our bus while we were filing the police report.”

The man studied us for a long moment, rolled down the driver’s side window, spat, then turned back to us. “Which way you headed?”

“We were headed to Avery, Missouri,” Wyatt said. “But we’re on our way to California.”

The man grunted. “You’re a ways off from Missouri. And it’s the wrong direction if you want to get to California.”

Yeah, we get that.

“There ain’t no more busses far as I know.”

Disappointment shot through me. We were penniless and stuck in the middle of nowhere. And I resolutely drew the line at hitchhiking.

“I can take you as far as I can,” said the man.

I was poised to decline when Wyatt asked, “Where are you headed?”

“South.”

Oh great. Not vague at all.

Wyatt turned to me, eyes bright, all hopeful and cheery. Old Wyatt was back. His expression declared, We’ve been saved!

I hoped my face communicated my alarm. No! Run away. Stranger danger.

He took me aside. “We don’t have to go back to Avery. We can keep going