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

“I’m not getting in a truck with Wild-Eyes Ludwig.”

“What’s the alternative? Walk to California?”

How did he know the thought had crossed my mind? “Maybe the cops can take us somewhere safe.”

Wyatt snorted. “Those guys? Fat chance.”

He had a point. Officer 1 and officer 2 were a couple of good ‘ol boys. Right before we took off I noticed them raiding the beer fridge.

“Ya comin’ or not?” The guy was growing impatient but Wyatt held my shoulders at arm’s length, leveling his eyes to mine. “Alright. We’ll wait for the bus.”

There was no bus. And even if there was one, we weren’t guaranteed they’d honor our tickets. Wyatt clapped his hand on the passenger side window frame and offered a grateful smile at the man. “Thanks, but we’re gonna stick around here for a while.”

“Suit yourselves.” The man put the truck in gear.

“Wait.” I ran to stop him. “We accept.”

He gave me a stern look. “You ax-cept?” He said the word like it tasted bad on his tongue.

“Yes. We accept your offer to give us a ride.”

He shook his head. His expression was all, ‘weird out-of-towners’ and he set the gear back to park. We shuffled in, Wyatt taking the center seat. Reeses on my lap.

The ride was uncomfortable in more ways than one. The interior of the truck smelled of tobacco and something musty. Every now and then the man would hawk a loogie out the window, and Wyatt’s many attempts at conversation were abruptly cut off. Wyatt introduced himself, me and Reeses, but was met with silence. The man had absolutely no interest in chatter nor did he find it necessary to tell us his name.

We rode as the sun began to set. The thought at the forefront of my mind the entire time being: Where exactly South are we going?

Studying his profile, I noticed the deep-set lines on the man’s face. The heavy, loose skin under his eyes making him appear more like a basset hound. The permanent scowl on his features. He had a faint scar on his chin. And his left hand had two missing fingers.

About an hour in, he pulled onto a dirt road. The soft slush of snow mixed with the earth to form muddy ice trails in lieu of tire tracks. The surroundings became increasingly overgrown with evergreens and wild brush as we progressed to this mysterious—and alarmingly remote—destination. The man didn’t say a word until he parked in front of a decrepit shack. A felled tree stretched the front of the property, serving no purpose other than to make the place appear abandoned. Old tires were strewn haphazardly in random spots, and the disturbing presence of an ax perched prominently on a chopping block right in front of the truck.

“I’ll just be a minute.” With a grunt, the man lowered himself from the truck and slammed the door shut. Wyatt’s Adam’s apple bobbed. We exchanged a frightened look.

The man rounded to the back of the truck, opened the tailgate, and slid out something heavy inside a large, black bag. He slumped it over his shoulder and disappeared around the back of the shack.

“Wyatt?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think is in that bag?”

He swallowed hard. “I’m afraid to find out.”

“Was that my imagination, or did that look like a body?”

He didn’t answer. He was thinking what I was thinking. This was the sort of place people went missing.

“Wyatt?”

“Shhh.”

“I have to pee.” I shouldn’t have polished off that soda.

“Hold it.”

A minute or two later, the man returned. He got in the truck without a word, his expressionless face betraying nothing, and he drove us back onto the main highway. The air was thick. Any minute now we could be dead meat. Was this how he lured his victims? Where was he taking us? If I survived this, there was no way I’d tell my brother.

We crossed the Kansas state line a while later and before we knew it, the twinkly lights of a quaint little town came into view. As we entered the center of town, the sight was an explosion of Christmas. Garlands hung from every surface creating a canopy of green over the streets from the rooftops to the lampposts. All the shops were decked out with wreaths and bright red bows. Colored lights covered every tree. Was that a gazebo in the town square? I could have sworn we’d stumbled upon a Hallmark movie sound stage.

“This is as far as I go.” The scary man pulled over to the curb, the truck still running. In other words, “Get out.”

So, you’re not going to kill us after all?

Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride.”

The man responded with a minuscule nod.

“Where are we, anyway?”

Stop asking questions, genius. Let’s go.

But something in the man’s features softened for one fleeting moment when he said, “Bethlehem.”

Wyatt ruined the moment with a snort. “You’re joking, right?”

He was met with a cold stare. “Do I look like I joke?”

“No, sir.”

My bladder couldn’t take it anymore. I had to find a bathroom.

“Thanks again,” I said, opening my door. “Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

He turned his scowly face and for the first time since he picked us up, really looked at me and Wyatt. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing as though words were just too much trouble and not really worth the effort. But then he focused on Wyatt, surprising us with this gem:

“Tell your woman you love her every day. Promise me that?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yes, sir. I promise.”

The man cast his eyes on me, and then back to Wyatt, then down to where Wyatt unintentionally rested his hand on my knee and said, “Never take each other for granted. Cherish every moment because life is short.”

Then he shooed us out of the truck and we wished him a Merry Christmas as he drove away.

We stood on the sidewalk all aglow from the warm string lights overhead and laughed. Grateful to be alive. Amazed, elated, and perplexed. And happy.