Page 40 of Until Next Time
* * *
It started pouring buckets just as we got back onto the highway. After driving through with close to zero visibility, we finally arrived at the hardware store, and I think we both let out a sigh of relief.
I could sense a lot of tension in the cab of the truck. Dawsen didn’t say much when the rain started to get bad. He just adjusted in his seat, turned the volume dial down a bit. I focused on the way his knuckles were gripping the steering wheel and the way his breathing almost felt forced. Like he was doing breathing exercises or something. I sat silently, admiring all of the work on the interior of his truck that he’s done. Dawsen has had this truck since he turned sixteen. Although, back then it was a piece of junk. But now, he’s restored it, and it’s actually so beautiful. It’s not flashy, and there’s not a ton of upgrades, besides cup holders and a good stereo, which of course are necessities. He has the leather bench seat newly upholstered, and he has a plaid, flannel blanket laid across the bench making it feel cozy and charming.
There’s something romantic about being in a man’s truck. Like, for a brief moment you’re getting a glimpse into his soul—and I can’t help but think about all the thoughts that have swirled around in that gorgeous head of his in this very place. I think I watch too many movies and read too many books.
“Are you okay?” Dawsen asks as he shift the truck into park.
“I mean, I wish we had gotten two of the croissants, but other than that, I’m fine!” I say, trying to make him smile because he looks stressed.
“And don’t worry, I saved the bag, just in case you want to give Sarah a call.” I wink, as I reach under the seat to grab the pastry bag that I strategically folded to show the name and number scrawled across it.
Dawsen takes the bag from me and then reaches forward to adjust the heat setting. He turns the dial up a notch.
“Hang tight, I’ll go take care of this.” He says as he unbuckles his seat belt then slides the pastry bag into his jacket pocket and starts for the door.
“Wait! I’ll come with you, I can help!” I offer, even though the thought of getting drenched by the freezing rain sounds absolutely miserable.
“Not a chance. Stay warm, I’ll be back.” He tells me, and jumps out and shuts the door before I can respond.
I watch him jog up to the doors of the hardware store and he pauses by the entrance. He reaches into his jacket pocket. He glances back at the truck, gaze on me.
He holds up the folded pastry bag, crumples it into a ball and tosses it in the trash. He turns and heads inside, and I smile while a blush creeps up my cheeks.
28
Dawsen
Holy Shit. Where did this rain come from? I swear it came out of nowhere. As soon as I got into the hardware store I pulled out my phone and clicked open the weather app. Sure enough—flash flood warnings and thunderstorm alerts pinging. It’s snowing no sign of stopping anytime soon, and I’m trying not to lose my cool. I don’t mind driving in a storm, but not with Birdie riding shotgun. And honestly, this is an insane amount of rain. I haven’t seen it this bad in years.
“Hey son, what can I do ya for?” The man behind the counter asks. He’s wearing camel colored work pants, a grey hoodie and a denim apron that’s tied right under his beer belly.
“Yeah, actually, I am actually hoping to pick up some scaffolding equipment. We were told you guys rent it out? We actually just drove up from Saddlebrooke.”
The man chuckles and starts waving me towards one of the aisles, “Oh yes, I believe I spoke to a lady about this just the otherday! I’ve got it back this way. Follow me son.” I nod and follow him towards the back of the shop where he signals at the metal bars and boards in a pile.
“I can help load it up for ya, but I’d advise that you don’t head back into Saddlebrooke tonight. These rain storms are ruthless and don’t have any mind for nobody else. Munsen usually closes down the highways when we get rains like these. In fact, I’d suggest you head up the road and see if you can’t get a room at the motor lodge before they all get taken. Not a lot of tourists here, so not a lot of places to stay.”
“How far is the lodge from here?” I ask, hoping to hide he concern in my voice.
“Just a couple miles. I think I’ve got a tarp I can send you off with to cover the equipment—assuming you’ve got a truck?”
We’re starting to gather the equipment as we head towards the front of the shop.
“Yeah, it’s parked right out front here. Black Ford.” I say, leading the way.
* * *
Carl and I finished loading up and tying down the equipment, and I ran back inside to pay, standing at the counter absolutely drenched. “Thanks for all you’re help, appreciate you sacrificing yourself to the rain.” I joke, as he’s punching in the keys on his register. This place is like a time machine. The register looks like it’s from the 60s and the antenna radio on the back counter has a muffled voice announcing the road closures in the town limits.
I hand him my credit card and he doesn’t look up when he says, “not a problem at all. Now run along and make sure you and the lady get some place dry and safe to sleep tonight.”
“Will do. Thanks again.” I tip my ball cap to him and jog to the truck.
“Damn.” I say, closing the door behind me as I slide into the truck in my soaking wet clothes.
“It’s such a nice day isn’t it? I love a nice drizzle.” Birdie teases.
