Page 75 of Hopeless Romantic
“Remember that ledge, and how I asked you to be there for me? It’s only fair that I get to be there for you, too.”
“For how long?”
“As long as we make each other happy.” When he said it like that, unapologetically, it sounded so reasonable. Because as long as they made each other happy, they’d continue on, until one or the other changed their mind.
“That sounds like a perfect rule number five.”
Chapter 15
Beckett took the highway off-ramp a tad too fast. The worn shocks on her dad’s pickup groaned, and the truck bobbed and jerked, mimicking the victory dance Gregory was doing across the headrest of the bench seat. A backseat driver with the lock-picking skills of a seasoned criminal, he’d enlisted his beak and talons to free himself from the confines of his cage minutes into their trip across town. And hadn’t shut up about it since.
A distraction she could do without.
Beckett hated driving vehicles with doors. Almost as much as she hated driving in the snow. It was about as comfortable as base jumping with four skis while wearing a straitjacket.
Thankfully, Main Street had been plowed, creating a snowbank that ran the length of downtown. Today’s forecast called for clear skies and sun, but Jack Frost was standing his ground, whipping up temperatures so low that even the marine layer blowing up from the south couldn’t budge the snow, which stubbornly clung to the crape myrtle trees and lampposts lining the wharf district.
“Cluckidy cluck cluck,”Gregory cursed when Beckett downshifted, causing the truck—and her passengers—to jerk forward.
Her dad still drove the same 1978 cherry-red Toyota pickup he’d purchased from an avocado farmer in college. It was a POS when he’d bought it to lug his grunge band’s equipment, and it drove with all the ease of a tractor in rush hour. But it was familiar, reliable, and still running—three reasons Jeffery would be buried in it.
Fitting, Beckett thought, since the tiny cab gave off a coffin-esque feel. Especially when the entire Hayes clan crammed in for a fun family trip—where Beckett was cast in the role of middle sardine and knocked knees with the oversized Magic 8-Ball gearshift knob.
Taking the truck wasn’t Beckett’s first choice, but with the chance of black ice and her day’s schedule—which included transporting Gregory, Diesel, and eventually Thomas when school let out—it was the safe choice.
Her two current passengers didn’t seem all that put out by the arrangements. Diesel’s front legs were on the door rest, his nose pressed through the slightly cracked window, his tongue and Dog Wonder cape billowing behind him.
Gregory’s steamy affair with the truck began the day he realized he could escape his carrier. He loved the freedom to roam, the feel of the cracked dash against his beak, and the wind in his feathers—especially when the wind originated from pressure-controlled vents.
To combat the chill from the open passenger window, the heat was cranked to high, the airflow full-blast, making it perfect conditions for pilot Gregory Pecker to take to the air.
Getting as high as possible on the seatback, Gregory dropped his head low and fully extended his wings, moving them up and down as if they were flaps on a F-15 fighter jet, soaring through town at g-force speeds, divebombing every time they went under a large street sign or overpass.
The faster Beckett went, the closer he positioned himself in front of her vent, as if using the wind necessary to increase his speed.
“Can you flap those somewhere else?” Beckett down-shifted, and the Magic 8-Ball landed on MY SOURCES SAY NO. “You’re going to get feathers in my hair.”
Pilot Pecker didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, cooing loudly as his wings darted this way and that, whipping up enough loose feathers to make a boa.
The next meeting on her agenda was with the savvy and sexy owner of the sailboatRhodes Less Traveled. When they signed the legally binding contract between their businesses, feathers would not fly. Not when it was the first time they’d seen each other since their tailgate picnic.
“Last warning,” she said, with no real bite. Gregory was as excited about today’s outing as Beckett.
In fact, when she pulled into the employee parking lot that separated the Crow’s Nest from the marina and caught sight of Levi’s truck near the back entrance, her lips tingled, and elation swelled like a helium balloon in her chest.
She squinted through the windshield, trying to make out whether his boat lights were on. They were not, but she still managed to locateRhodes Less Traveledwithout any problem. Not because of the name, but because she’d spent many a summer coffee break watching him work on his boat—hands dirty, shirt off, board shorts slung dangerously low.
Beckett was so busy checking out Levi’s mast, she failed to spot the snow-covered speed bump in time to slow down. The first two tires went over and up, getting enough air that when they landed, the pickup bottomed out, and complete chaos ensued.
The steel undercarriage met the pavement with grinding force, the screech loud enough to be heard a mile away. In the passenger’s seat, Diesel braced himself on all fours, eyes extra-bulgy, tongue panting, and let out a nervous fart when the back tires cleared the bump. From the floorboard, Gregory ran in circles as if he were being chased by Karen and her pickax, finally settling down when Beckett pulled into a parking spot.
Gregory squawked disapprovingly at Beckett, then went about grooming himself with his beak.
“It’s okay, kiddo. I’ll groom you before our next stop.”
She certainly wouldn’t be making a smooth entrance. Nor would she be getting a moment to herself to calm her nerves over seeing Levi again for the first time since their date. More importantly, since the kiss that shook the eastern seaboard.
The memory still made heat burn her cheeks, not to mention other parts of her body she wasn’t ready to recognize.
