off-handedly. He was present. Stable yet unencumbered. Soulful, for lack of a better word.
His answering smile told me that everything was just fine by him. He ducked back under the hood. Next, he’d be asking for the owner’s manual, and I’d be just fine with that too. Preemptively, I pulled the manual out of the glove compartment and set it on the passenger seat.
Then I settled in the driver’s seat and leaned forward to fiddle around with the CB radio.
I was accustomed to taking life minute by minute. I’d take Beau, and his questions, wherever he and they led.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“She drives nice,” Beau pronounced about an hour into our drive. “Someone took good care of her.”
He meant the Brave. He filled every inch of the passenger seat beside me, even with it slid as far back as possible. I kept my hands firmly at ten and two on the wheel — not because I was that conscientious of a driver, but because I wanted to reach across and hold his hand or arm … just touch him.
“Yes,” I answered. “I’m pretty lucky.”
He turned to look at me. His gaze actually warmed the skin of my right cheek and neck. “You’re not the only one.”
He didn’t mean the Brave.
I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
We stopped for groceries in Tacoma, just outside Seattle, where Beau helped some random guy get his car started in the Walmart parking lot. I tried to not just stand there and stare like an idiot while his agile hands dug into the failing engine. Thankfully, the owner was happy chatting to Beau about cars rather than attempting to engage me with boring conversation about the weather. Or maybe talking about the weather with strangers was a Canadian thing?
Though even I could tell that the owner knew nothing about cars or engines, Beau was completely pleasant. He got the car running with a few tweaks.
Walmart was cool about motorhomes using their parking lots, even overnight. It was supposed to be a place to socialize with fellow RVers — trading tips, routes, recipes — but for me it was just an easy grocery store to get in and out of.
Totally unasked, the random guy pressed a fifty into Beau’s hand. Not bad for fifteen minutes of his time.
“Nice,” I said as we wandered into the store. “You are handy.”
Beau snorted a laugh and then promptly blew the entire fifty on Oreo’s, Coke, and beef jerky in a multitude of flavors. “Every good road trip needs beef jerky,” he informed me, utterly serious.
“I’m not big on meat,” I said.
Beau wagged his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I couldn’t help but giggle for the second time in my life.
Beau drew attention in a way that would have terrified me. Except that the looks coming his way were admiring. Before I’d dyed my hair and opted for the tinted glasses, I’d gotten stared at in a completely different way. Beau seemed oblivious to the attention, though, and no one even glanced at me as I walked beside him. I could get used to that.
Not that Beau needed any additional items in the ‘pro’ side of the list in my head. The pros were already stacked.
We didn’t hold hands, but we walked close enough to brush arms numerous times.
I grabbed whole wheat bread, mayo, cheese, and a head of lettuce. When we got back to the Brave, I made us sandwiches on the handy cutting board that covered the stainless steel sink. I cut the crusts off mine but not Beau’s. He’d already eaten the ones I rejected. I quartered his sandwiches, though, which he found terribly amusing.
He shared his Oreos and didn’t ask to drive as we turned west off I-5 to cut out to the coast. I’d already figured out where I wanted to stay the night — Andersen’s RV Park in Long Beach, Washington — and Beau seemed happy to go along with my plan. I opted for the standard site, which was thirty-two dollars during the fall/winter season, rather than the ocean site for forty. I figured that Beau and I wouldn’t be spending
His answering smile told me that everything was just fine by him. He ducked back under the hood. Next, he’d be asking for the owner’s manual, and I’d be just fine with that too. Preemptively, I pulled the manual out of the glove compartment and set it on the passenger seat.
Then I settled in the driver’s seat and leaned forward to fiddle around with the CB radio.
I was accustomed to taking life minute by minute. I’d take Beau, and his questions, wherever he and they led.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“She drives nice,” Beau pronounced about an hour into our drive. “Someone took good care of her.”
He meant the Brave. He filled every inch of the passenger seat beside me, even with it slid as far back as possible. I kept my hands firmly at ten and two on the wheel — not because I was that conscientious of a driver, but because I wanted to reach across and hold his hand or arm … just touch him.
“Yes,” I answered. “I’m pretty lucky.”
He turned to look at me. His gaze actually warmed the skin of my right cheek and neck. “You’re not the only one.”
He didn’t mean the Brave.
I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
We stopped for groceries in Tacoma, just outside Seattle, where Beau helped some random guy get his car started in the Walmart parking lot. I tried to not just stand there and stare like an idiot while his agile hands dug into the failing engine. Thankfully, the owner was happy chatting to Beau about cars rather than attempting to engage me with boring conversation about the weather. Or maybe talking about the weather with strangers was a Canadian thing?
Though even I could tell that the owner knew nothing about cars or engines, Beau was completely pleasant. He got the car running with a few tweaks.
Walmart was cool about motorhomes using their parking lots, even overnight. It was supposed to be a place to socialize with fellow RVers — trading tips, routes, recipes — but for me it was just an easy grocery store to get in and out of.
Totally unasked, the random guy pressed a fifty into Beau’s hand. Not bad for fifteen minutes of his time.
“Nice,” I said as we wandered into the store. “You are handy.”
Beau snorted a laugh and then promptly blew the entire fifty on Oreo’s, Coke, and beef jerky in a multitude of flavors. “Every good road trip needs beef jerky,” he informed me, utterly serious.
“I’m not big on meat,” I said.
Beau wagged his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I couldn’t help but giggle for the second time in my life.
Beau drew attention in a way that would have terrified me. Except that the looks coming his way were admiring. Before I’d dyed my hair and opted for the tinted glasses, I’d gotten stared at in a completely different way. Beau seemed oblivious to the attention, though, and no one even glanced at me as I walked beside him. I could get used to that.
Not that Beau needed any additional items in the ‘pro’ side of the list in my head. The pros were already stacked.
We didn’t hold hands, but we walked close enough to brush arms numerous times.
I grabbed whole wheat bread, mayo, cheese, and a head of lettuce. When we got back to the Brave, I made us sandwiches on the handy cutting board that covered the stainless steel sink. I cut the crusts off mine but not Beau’s. He’d already eaten the ones I rejected. I quartered his sandwiches, though, which he found terribly amusing.
He shared his Oreos and didn’t ask to drive as we turned west off I-5 to cut out to the coast. I’d already figured out where I wanted to stay the night — Andersen’s RV Park in Long Beach, Washington — and Beau seemed happy to go along with my plan. I opted for the standard site, which was thirty-two dollars during the fall/winter season, rather than the ocean site for forty. I figured that Beau and I wouldn’t be spending
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