Page 33 of The Backdraft
He had picked snacks out forme? That was . . . kind of sweet, for Archer anyway, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
Say thank you, you idiot.
“Thanks,” I blurted, and then cleared my throat, reaching for the trail mix. At least it had M&Ms in it. “Thank you.”
He nodded, pulled out two bottles of water, then buckled his seatbelt without saying another word.
Shifting into gear, I drove us out of the gas station, and back toward the highway. The silence between us had originally been annoying, but now I welcomed it because it let me stew over what the hell him buying snacks he thought I’d like meant, if it meant anything.
Twenty minutes later, however, when my line of thinking had spiraled to if I wanted him buying me snacks to mean something, I desperately wished he’d argue with me. Anything to get me out of the “Archer might not be that bad of a guy” hole I’d let myself go down. My brain was already having a hard enoughtime trying to decipher which version of him I’d met was the real one, and him being a jerk would be much easier for both of us.
***
I got the reminder I needed not long after, when he once again requested to stop.
“It’s only been two hours! We’ve got two left.”
He shrugged. “So? Might as well stop and get more gas, and stretch our legs before the last bit.”
Annoyance simmered inside me. “We don’t need gas. We still have three-quarters of a tank from the last time we stopped.”
“Well maybe I have to pee.”
I hazard a glance in his direction. “Doyou have to pee?”
“Sure.”
I groaned. “No, you don’t! Why the hell do we need to stop? What? Are you scared of cars or something? Is that why you’re so damn quiet?”
At least I was getting the arguing I’d been wishing for, but now all I wanted was whatever would let us power through the last two hours of this drive. I wanted to get the hell out of this car. I was tired, stiff, and in desperate need of an actual meal. Plus, I desperately needed to put some space between the two of us before I reached over the center console and strangled him.
More annoyingly, it’s as if the soon-to-be murder victim could read my mind. “I’m fine. I thought we could use some real food, and to get out of the cramped car for a minute.”
“Fine,” I bit out, throwing my blinker on and downshifting a little aggressively, as I got off the next exit. This man was hell-bent on turning this road trip into a whole-day affair, and part of me wanted to tell him to shut up and power through, but the other part of me actually did want some food and to get some fresh air.
I pulled into a Wendy’s because I’d be damned if I let him decide whenandwherewe stopped.
This time, he didn’t jump out of the car like I expected him to. In fact, he waited for me by the front of my Jetta, then walked almost next to me, but slightly behind. I didn’t know what happened to him in the last four hours, but I wasn’t sure I liked it, and it got worse when he insisted on paying when we ordered.
While I was waiting at the table I snagged for us, I Googled potential causes for Archer’s mood swings, but came up empty-handed. Not that I really expected the internet to tell me exactly what his problem was, but it was worth a shot.
“You good?” he asked around a mouthful of burger when he caught me still staring a few minutes later.
I pointed a fry in his direction before dunking it into my frosty. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Figure me out?”
“Yes. One minute, you’re a miserable ass, the next you’re buying me snacks and lunch. I’m trying to figure out which one is real.” I ate another fry.
“The miserable ass.” His expression didn’t change, and when he took another bite, it was clear he had no plans on elaborating on his statement.
I was wholly inclined to believe him, but something about simply slapping that label onto him didn’t feel quite right. “I don’t know if I believe that. I mean, you’re definitely a grump, but I think there’s more to it.”
His eyes locked on mine, and even without knowing his profession, I’d guess he was a firefighter, because the intensity of his stare threatened to burn me alive. “There’s always more, Darcy. Doesn’t really change anything, though, does it?”
I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
We continued to eat quietly, the conversation effectively extinguished, which is how I thought it would remain until wegot to my parents’, but once we were back in the car he surprised me by speaking.
