Fool for Love by Beth Ciotta Page B

here. In this … moody funk. In this freaking antique car with the ill-placed gearshift and impossibly stiff brake pedal. She sweated bullets every time she had to slow or stop. “Definitely frustrated.”
    “What about a sex toy?”
    Chloe nearly clipped a mailbox as she turned onto Main Street. “What?”
    “I had a vibrator once. Had two speeds. Oh, My and Oh, God. Big Al, I called it. Seemed more subtle than Big Dick.”
    “For the love of—”
    “If you don’t have one, I know a place—”
    “Could we not talk about this?”
    Daisy shot her a look over the rims of her big shades. “I thought you said you weren’t a prude.”
    “I’m not. But you’re…” Someone’s grandma. “Jackie-freaking-Kennedy.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “Is that your way of saying I look antiquated or sophisticated?”
    Chloe smiled. “ Très Retro Chic.”
    “ Merci .” Daisy smiled back, then, after easing back in her seat, adjusted her pillbox hat. “I can’t imagine talking about sex toys with Jackie either.”
    “Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all for a while.” She fumbled with the old-fashioned knob on the radio, trying to dial in a strong station. “Maybe we should crank up some music. Set a tone for our Sunday drive.” She stopped when she got to an easy-listening station. Barry Manilow? Oh, well. At least he was mellow. Mellow music for a mellow drive.
    Daisy shook her head. “You’re worse off than I thought.”
    Several minutes and five disgustingly sappy songs later, Daisy said, “Pull over.”
    “Here?”
    “Here.”
    Chloe pulled onto the shoulder of the two-lane concrete highway. No potholes. No sharp curves. As far as she could see. Just open road yawning toward beautiful mountains and endless trees—their random colorful foliage bursting with the first hints of fall. She got out and, as agreed, traded places with Daisy, who, after popping a couple of latches, started retracting the convertible’s roof. Chloe lent a hand, following the other woman’s lead, since she had no clue as to how to “pop the top.” “Hope it doesn’t start raining.”
    “Or hailing,” Daisy quipped in a tone that made Chloe feel like an uptight worrywart.
    A few minutes later the roof was folded away and secured. Daisy kicked off her heels and threw them in the backseat. Sliding behind the wheel, she adjusted the pillow beneath her butt, buckled her seat belt, and dialed the radio to a rock station. She cranked the volume and yelled, “Fasten your seat belt!”
    Oh no. Oh, God.
    Daisy floored the Cadillac and Chloe held her breath. Please don’t let me die. No potholes. No hairpin turns. But the passing landscape blurred. Her loose hair whipped fast and furious about her face as they raced along the open highway. Buckled in, she couldn’t lean far enough over to see the speedometer, but they had to be going … seventy? With the top down.
    “Feel the wind, the sun, the surge of adrenaline!” Daisy yelled.
    She felt it. How could she not? Senses reeling, Chloe glanced over at the silver-haired hellion behind the wheel. “How in the world is your hat still on your head?”
    “Hairpins!”
    Naturally.
    Chloe busted out laughing. She threw her head back and reveled in the perfect fall day and the rush of adrenaline.
    “Just like Thelma and Louise!” Daisy shouted as she deftly steered the Caddy around a wide curve.
    Chloe’s heart pounded. “Except for the driving off the cliff part, right?”
    “Pa-leeze. I’ve got a lot of living to do!”
    Something clicked inside Chloe’s heart and mind. Something that had once burned bright but had been snuffed and contained for several months.
    The desire to live in the moment.
    Inspired by Daisy and a burst of spontaneity, Chloe toed off her heels and unbuckled her seat belt. Pulse racing, she maneuvered herself to her knees and gripped the edges of the windshield with all her might, her face taking the full force of the wind. Fear and excitement pulsed through