Page 47 of Missile Tow
“Hmmmm,” Bertie hummed. “Coincidence, you say? Let me get this clear. Chip’s ex, John, is now dating your ex? And then Chip’s ex also mentions Missile, and you just up and decide to stop by our little town? Do I have that right?”
“That’s the gist of it,” Van confirmed. “John did say the gas was cheaper here. And then there was the storm, too. I was sort of forced to stop.”
Bertie uncrossed her arms, locked the cash register, and then walked around the counter, pausing in front of Van. She studied him for a few seconds while I dreaded what she might do or say. I loved the old bag, but she could be a grenade dropper.
“And you believe all that shit is a coincidence, young man?” Van, eyes wide and appearing a bit taken aback, vigorously shook his head. “You’d be correct in thinking not, son. Hogwash! You’re here for Chip. And Chip needs you. End of story.”
And with that, she shot me a parting look that dared me to argue with her and then headed for the storage room. Inervously shuffled my feet, my hands digging for gold in my jeans pockets. She hadn’t lied. Ididneed him. I’m not sure how I knew that, but the feeling was marrow deep.
“Seems Bertie believes in messages too,” Van spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “I misjudged her.”
“You judged correctly if you suspect the woman has never mentioned shit like that to me before today.”
He cozied up alongside me and stuck a finger in my side. “Relax, Chip,” he teased. “Maybe she sees things. Maybe she doesn’t. But I’ll tell you this much. Our meeting feels like divine intervention.”
“You honestly think that?”
“Why not?” he replied. “I’ve got nothing to lose by accepting that we don’t have the world figured out. What if she’s on to something too?”
I was skeptical but liked the possibility that the universe would intervene on my behalf. If Van was put directly in my path, I’d be a fool not to explore why. The fact that he was exactly the type of man I’d fantasized about for several lonely months only cemented the idea. To me, the message was becoming clearer. I’d be wise to listen to the signals.
Here’s how I was beginning to see things: a man happens to cross paths with my ex. My ex is now with his ex. My ex steers him my way. Possibly by accident. Possibly on purpose. Van had already planned to drive by my location, merely a few hundred yards from the highway, before he ever met John. A once-in-decade storm strands him in the very town I live in. What are the frickin’ odds?
“I will admit, there are a lot of signs,” I said. “And you did say you were on a journey because of a message from who knows where. What if I am the man you’re destined to meet?”
“Then I’d encourage us to confront this with open eyes, mister.”
“There are ten days until Christmas,” I reminded him. “And you agreed to help me out around here until then.”
“That I did,” he agreed. “And…” he fixed his eyes on me, lifting his brows. “I like what I’ve seen so far, so I’m willing to give Bertie’s sixth sense some credence if you are.”
I extended my hand for him to shake. “Deal,” I said. “Now come out back to the garage and help me find Christmas lights for the store.”
Van continued to hold my hand while we stared at each other. Strands of brown hair peeked out from under the wool beanie of mine that he wore. His cheeks were flushed pink. A manly five o’clock shadow threatened to disguise his boyish face, all while his dark brown eyes twinkled under the store’s bright lighting, leaving me speechless.
I recognized another communication loud and clear. This message wasn’t from the universe. My heart sent this message directly to my brain.You’re falling in love. Chip.
CHAPTER TWENTY: Van
Ifroze in place, awed beyond belief at the old vehicle sitting in front of me in the garage behind the mercantile. The red exterior could use a good waxing, but the body was straight and had zero dents or flaws on the surface.
“Wow,” I cried in excitement. “Does this truck run?”
“She sure does,” Chip confirmed. “Runs like a dream.”
I stepped forward and laid my hand on the smooth steel hood before stepping alongside the classic vehicle, my fingers outlining the curvature of the front wheel well, the driver’s side door, and then the top edge of the truck’s bed.
Stepping backward so I could read the old, white hand-painted script on the side of the door, my mouth hung open. “Missile Tow,” I read out loud. “A tow truck?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked on the antique.
“Her name is Lucy. She’s the original tow truck my grandfather purchased when he first opened the mercantile and gas station,” Chip said.
“Lucy?” I asked incredulously. “That’s an odd coincidence. My mom’s name is Lucy.”
Chip grinned. “My gramma’s name was Lucy. Another coincidence? They’re starting to pile up,” he stated.
I pointed at the door of the truck. “Missile Tow,” I read out loud. “Like m-i-s-t-l-e-t-o-e, the othermistletoe,” I added, spelling out each letter.
Chip looked at me quizzically. “I never thought about that.”
