Page 84 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
In his arms, Bibi was shaking. Oh god, he’d upset her and made her cry, and if she cried, he’d cry too. The shaking got worse, her shoulders heaving, then dropping, and heaving again. Her tiny sobs grew louder, sobs that were…
“Oh, Luci,” she said, laughing. “I suck at being a florist, and yes, I really am that bad. Which is why I’ve got somebody coming in to help, starting tomorrow. She’s good, but nowhere near as good as you. Nobody could be.”
“I really am sorry. About how it’s all turned out. But maybe it’s for the best and next week or next month or next whenever, I’ll look back and think, yeah, it was.”
Bibi swept his hair, the hair he’d had cut especially for Arlo, away from his brow.
“Do you believe that?”
A lump jammed tight in his throat, and he shook his head.
“I’ll miss you. I’ve never had an assistant quite like you. When you’re settled back home, I’ll come visit. Maybe I’ll meet an English lord and live in a castle just like your one.”
“It’s a manor, not a castle. And you really wouldn’t want to marry an aristo,” he said, smiling, “because if they’re not gay, they prefer their horses and dogs to the women in their lives.”
They both laughed and Bibi checked her watch once more, her lips curving downwards in resignation. “Looks like it really is time to go. You ready?”
“Yes.”
Moments later, they were in the car. Lucian’s little apartment receded, and as Bibi turned the corner, it vanished. Lucian closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window, not bearing to see the small town where he’d been happier than he’d ever been fading into the distance.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
Arlo screeched to a halt, scattering dust. No Bibi, no Lucian. He checked his watch again. Ten-twenty. Would twenty minutes define the rest of his life? His stomach lurched, and he fought against the rising nausea. About to swing the wheel around to take the road out of town toward the interstate and Denver airport, he slammed on the brake, jumped out, and ran to the house.
Mr. DuPont had to have Lucian’s number… Arlo jammed his finger on the bell, cursing himself for the millionth time for letting the battery on his cell go flat and flinging it aside as he rushed from the house, not thinking to bring it with him so he could charge it in the car… No answer. He rang the bell again. He hammered on the door. Not a sound, not a twitch of the drapes. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
In his rear-view mirror, the house, the street, the town receded from view. On the highway, he put his foot down.
The traffic, thank god, was light, and wherever the traffic cops were today, they weren’t any place near him and as the open road took him closer to the interstate and the airport, his hammering heart slowed. He was going to do it. He was only twenty minutes behind them, he was going to catch them up, he was going to get to Lucian before he got on that flight that would take away the best thing that had ever happened to him.
As the ramp for the interstate came into view, the traffic increased. Arlo swore under his breath. He checked the time, his heart lurching. He could do it, he could make it, he could get to Lucian in time to stop him making the biggest mistake of both their lives… he just needed the traffic not to—
“No. No, no, no, no,no!” He stamped on the brake, shuddering to a stop.
Up ahead for as far as he could see, the interstate was a sea of red brake lights. Arlo slammed the heel of his hand against his horn, joining the cacophony. Vehicle doors were opening as drivers and passengers shielded their eyes and peered into the distance. No, this couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t… Arlo squeezed his eyes tight to stop the hot tears of frustration, rage and his own damn foolishness from pouring down his face.
In the lane next to him, a trucker, high in his cab, had an eagle eye view.
“Can you see what the problem is?” Arlo called out.
The trucker shook his head. “No, but it’s got to be an accident. Haven’t heard any sirens yet, so maybe it’s just happened. Probably some jerk late for his flight. Happens all the time on this stretch.”
Arlo’s stomach hollowed out. His hands around the wheel gripped tight, his knuckles whitening. An accident… late for a flight… oh, dear god, no, not that.
Sirens ripped through the air. Cop cars and an ambulance, somehow, against all the odds, getting through as drivers maneuvered , creating just enough space.
“Hey, can I borrow your cell? I’ve got a—a friend who’s somewhere up ahead… I have to check…” Arlo waved toward the emergency vehicles, his voice shaking, refusing to believe the unbelievable.
The trucker looked from Arlo to the ribbon of metal that seemed to stretch into forever. With a curt nod, he leaned down and handed it across. Arlo’s fingers trembled as he tried to punch out Lucian’s number, but, clumsy with fear, it took him three attempts.
“Hello, this is Lucian Blaxston…”
Arlo squeezed his eyes shut. “Pick up Lucian, for the love of god, pick up…”
“… leave me a message after the bleep…”
“It’s me.” Arlo glanced up at the trucker, who picked his nose as he gazed into the distance. “I—I’m wrong. I’ve made the worst mistake of my life. Everything I believed, or tried to convince myself I believed, about us, it’s wrong. Baby, don’t get on that flight, don’t—”
