Page 43 of Kissing for Keeps
She gives a watery chuckle. “You’re going to think I’m the biggest idiot.”
Look at her, making jokes when she’s crying. It twists my heart to hear and keeps me from making a smart remark back. “Impossible. That award is reserved for yours truly.”
“Not after today, it’s not.” The humor in her voice gives way, replaced by the slightest wobbling. “Ugh, it’s so stupid.”
“You’re killing me, Siena. Did you rob a bank? Elope with Philippe?”
“What? No!” She sighs shakily. “I… I can’t get out of my parking space.”
My hand flies to my mouth to stifle my surprise—and yes, a laugh. I clear my throat.
“I know,” she says, her voice watery. “But I’ve been trying for half an hour, and it’s just so tiny, and this van is so huge, and all these people are mad at me and staring at me, and… I don’t know what to do.”
I drop my hand, my desire to laugh disappearing with the vulnerability she’s showing. It can’t have been easy for her to call me, and that melts my heart a little. I mean, it’s not like she had other options. Except Philippe. At least I beathimout.
“I’m coming,” I say, putting on my metaphorical knight-in-shining-armor breastplate. Chivalry is not dead, y’all.
“How? I have the van.”
Right. She has the van. I have nothing but my Chevrolegs.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way.
“Don’t worry about it. Just sit tight. Or go roam the craft store again. Whatever you want. Just shoot me the name of the store, and I’ll text you when I get there.”
“Are you sure? I could call Philippe. He has a c—”
“No!” Whoa. That was intense. I take a breath and recapture my chill vibes. “Nah. Don’t bother him. He’s probably busy holding court with the local peasants or something. I’ll be there. I promise.”
“What ifyoucan’t get the van out, Jack? I should probably have it towed or something. Though, I don’t think a tow truck can fit down here.”
“No tow trucks needed. I’m coming. I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
I’m joggingdown the side of the road with sprawling, green fields to my right and a hill blocking everything to my left. The views are beautiful, but I’m not really in a state to appreciate them. According to Google Maps, I’ll get to Siena in an hour. That time is based on walking speed, though, and I’m not walking. I’m in the solid middle ground between a jog and a sprint. I can probably do it in forty-five minutes.
But that’s still too long. I tried Uber, but they don’t operate in this part of France. Every time I look at my route on my phone and my ETA, all I can think of is Siena sitting in the van, crying.
Which is why, even though I’ve never done this in my life, when I hear the next group of cars coming up behind me, I stick out my thumb.
I’m that desperate.
The cars pass me, offering nothing but rejection to my poor thumb. At least it’s quick, though. One of them even honks at me. I can’t blame the guy—there’s barely a shoulder on this road, which means the cars have to veer toward the center to avoid sideswiping me. I’m literally living on the edge.
I pick up speed, wishing I could take off my shirt since it’s somewhere in the high 70s. Somehow, though, I think the odds of anyone picking up a shirtless hitchhiker are even worse than my current ones.
Another car comes up behind me, and I stick out my thumb for good measure. The sleek black car passes me, then, to my surprise, slows and pulls to the side.
The window rolls down, and Philippe’s head pops out.
Just my luck.
“I thought that was you,” he says in his French accent. “Come on in.”
I glance behind me at the cars approaching and hurry toward the passenger door.
“Where do you need to go?” Philippe asks as he pulls onto the road after letting the other cars pass.
