Author: Kristan Higgins

“Surly ex-wife and her dog, somewhere in Montana,” he said, clicking a picture of me.

“Your next Facebook entry?” I suggested. Nick came over and stood close to me, showing me the shot he’d just taken. Me, scowling, Coco pooping. Adorable.

“And here we have yesterday’s pictures…you with the penguin, don’t you look so cute…” I was scowling in that one, too.

Nick smelled good. Edible. This was getting uncomfortable. Apparently Nick felt it, too. “Okay,” he said, turning back to the car. “Whenever you and your dog are ready, we can head off to see the world’s biggest plastic model dinosaur.”

“Maybe we can swing by the Unabomber’s cabin,” I said brightly.

“Great idea.”

“Is this just a plot to spend more time with me, Nick, all these back roads and irritating stops?”

“Oh, definitely. What man alive wouldn’t want more time with you, Harpy?” He raised the camera once more and clicked. Well, that photo would showcase my middle finger.

“At least let me drive, Nick.” I grumbled, scooping up Coco and plodding back to the Mustang.

To my surprise, he opened the driver’s side door and held it for me. “Sure. Be my guest. And here.” He bent, picked something from the ground, then presented me with a little blue flower. “For you. A souvenir.”

I took it suspiciously. “Nightshade?” I guessed. Nick gave a crooked grin. The flower petals were very soft, and when I touched them, a faint vanilla smell drifted up. Hmm. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I tucked the flower in my wallet and got into the car. “Buckle up, Nicky dear,” I said to my companion.

Oh, the thrill of sitting behind the wheel of a genuine, made-in-America muscle car! Unlike Nick, I knew what to do. Securing the hat marked with the sign of the devil (NY, that is), I buckled my seat belt and glanced over to make sure Nick was secure, as well. “Hold on to Coco, okay?” I said, and as soon as he had her, I put the ’Stang to the test. Gravel spun, there was a brief screech of tires, and Coco (or Nick) gave a surprised yip.

“Christ, Harper, slow down!” Nick said, clutching the dashboard.

“You’re such a weenie, Nick,” I said, smiling as the Mustang did what she was built to do.

“Pray, Coco. Dear St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers, please protect Coco and me from this insane Massachusetts driver. Amen.” Coco barked and wagged, then picked up her bunny and shook it. She loved speed. Of course she did! She was my dog.

At that moment, my cell phone rang. “Oh, service! How thrilling!” I said, grabbing it. “Hello?”

“You’re breaking the law,” Nick commented.

“Not in this state, I’m not,” I answered, not that I knew either way. The call was from Dennis. Well! How unexpected! “Hi Dennis!” I said brightly.

“Hey, Harp. How you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just great, Den,” I said, smiling at Nick. It occurred to me that Nick didn’t know Dennis and I were over. Hmm. I decided to keep that little nugget to myself. God knows he would run with that…divorce attorney unable to keep boyfriend. In fact, it might be nice for Nick to be a little jealous. “So, Den, you got home okay?”

“Oh, yeah. But what about you? The airport was closed?”

“Yes. Some computer thing. Software. Whatever. I’m on my way to a bigger city. I should be home sometime tomorrow, maybe even late tonight.”

“Cool. Well, I just…I just wanted to check in.”

Huh. That was nice. “What are you up to right now?” I asked, hoping to prolong the conversation a little. It was reassuring to talk to Dennis. Uncomplicated. Every sentence wasn’t loaded with a quadruple entendre.

“I’m at work,” he said. “Might grab a couple beers with the guys.”

“Really? That sounds great.”

There was a pause. “So you’re okay, Harp?”

Did he mean okay about our breakup? “I’m fine, Den. How about you? You okay?”

“This is the most boring conversation I’ve ever listened to,” Nick observed mildly. Coco was standing on his lap, her tiny paws on his chest, obviously having changed her mind about him. One scratch behind the ears, and my dog was a whore.

“Who was that?” Dennis asked.

“Um…that’s Nick. He’s taking me to the airport.”

“Nick? Really?” Another pause. “Your ex?”

Did I have more than one Nick in my past? “Yes. The very same. He offered to drive me, there were no rental cars, it was kind of a mess.”

Nick turned to me. “Can I say hi?”

I shifted the phone away from my mouth. “Why? Do you have a man crush?”

“Let me talk to him,” he said.

“Den, Nick wants to say hi. I’ll see you back home, okay?”

“Okay. Hey, Harp, take care, okay?”

“You too, Den.”

Not without suspicion, I passed the phone to Nick. He grinned. “Hey, Dennis, my man. How’s tricks? Is that right? No kidding. Nope, actually I didn’t know that.” He glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. Well, crotch. If Dennis had just told him about our breakup, I’d be pretty pissed indeed. After all, it was personal, and Dennis shouldn’t be—

“She has her moments,” Nick said with a half grin. He listened for a second. “I know. Really? Huh. No, you don’t have to tell me.” He laughed, and I shook my head, disgusted. “She’s not bad, is she?”

“I hate men,” I muttered.

Nick shifted the phone away from his jaw. “Maybe you’re a lesbian,” he whispered.

“I wish I was.”

Nick laughed at something Dennis said. “Well, she’s mine for now, anyway.” I twitched, and the car swerved a bit. “Oh, yeah. She’s sweet, all right. In her own special way. Yep, that, too. Totally. Okay, good talking to you, dude. You too.” He closed the phone and put it down. “Nice guy you got there,” he said.

“It’s so eighth grade, Nick, talking about me when I’m sitting right here.”

“How do you know we were talking about you?” he asked.

“Oh, please. You were talking about me. You know you were.”

His smile grew. “Coco, is your mommy having a little hissy fit? She is? She has them all the time, doesn’t she? You poor thing.”

“You know what, Nick? You’re an idiot.”

“You know what, Harper? You’re doing ninety-three miles an hour.”

Whoopsy. I took my foot off the gas and slowed down. That was the thing with a car like this. Hard to stay moderate. My face felt hot.

“Coco, tell your mommy that not everything’s about her,” Nick said to my dog, who was now cuddled in his lap, staring up at him with her big brown eyes.

“Okay, Nick. You weren’t talking about me. ‘She’s not so bad. She has her moments. She’s sweet in her own way.’ What were you talking about then, huh?”

Nick smiled, his eyes crinkling. Not fair that men got more attractive as they aged. Not fair at all. “Well, you do have impressive recall, Harpy, but the truth is, we were talking about this car.”

My mouth opened, then shut. “She’s mine for now?” I asked.

“The car.” He glanced at me again. “It belongs to a friend of mine.”

Crotch! Nick did that on purpose, I just knew. I really did hate men. Especially this one.

After fiddling with the radio and finding no signal, Nick opened the glove box and pulled out his iPod, plugged it into the dashboard. He pressed a few buttons, and the husky voice of Isaac Slade, lead singer of The Fray, came over the speakers. “You Found Me.” One of my favorite songs. One of Nick’s too, apparently. The next group was Kings of Leon. I had the same song on my iPod. Not in the exact same order, but damn it, in the same playlist. Then came U2’s latest. Had it. Next was “Vida la Vida” by Coldplay, a song I’d probably listened to a hundred times.

“I think I’ve heard this one a little too much,” Nick said. “Mind if I skip it?”

“Nope. Go ahead,” I answered. Crikey.

So. We had similar taste in music. Not a surprise, I guess. We were both from the Northeast, both roughly the same age. Whatever. Still, it was a little unnerving.

We stopped twice more, me biting my tongue so hard I nearly drew blood and trying not to fidget as Nick voiced his fascination with the exciting dam and spillway in one town, and several huge grain silos near the train tracks. But eventually, we came to a town—a megalopolis, compared to what we’d seen thus far. Four blocks, a stoplight and everything. And, more important, a restaurant. Two, even.

It was very pretty…brick buildings with some nice detail. Clean. Friendly. If I was looking for a place to hide, I’d pick here. Maybe my mother had, too, at some point.

“You hungry?” Nick asked.

“Starving.” The six-pack of doughnuts was a distant memory.

No one else was inside the restaurant, and the bartender welcomed us with an amiable twang, asked us where we were from and didn’t mind the fact that Coco was with us. People were nice out here. In no rush, not like us Yankees, always dashing about from here to there.

Nick and I sat in a booth, each of us ordering a reuben, which was surprisingly excellent. Nick read the local paper, idly stealing my fries as if we were an old married couple, occasionally giving one to Coco. He asked the bartender a question about the area. Lou was a local, answered a few questions about the dams we’d just seen, then said he’d been to New York twice, and the two men chatted amiably about restaurants in the city.

Nick had always been good with people. Much better than I was.

When Lou had to answer the phone, Nick took out his book, a manly tome on the great subway systems of the world.

“We probably want to get going, huh, Nick? To the airport? So you can be rid of me and I can get home?”

He didn’t look up from his book. “We’re only a few hours away, Harper. Try not to stroke out, okay? I want some huckleberry pie. Can’t say I’ve ever even heard of it before.” He glanced up. “Life is all about new experiences, don’t you think? Carpe diem and all that?”

I rolled my eyes. This whole little road trip was getting a little…unsettling. I wanted to be home. All this sky, all this land…it made me feel exposed. Too many memories, too much current buzzing between us. Nick turned back to his book.

A couple came in, greeted the bartender by name and sat at a nearby table. Perfect. I could eavesdrop, one of my favorite pastimes. The man spoke first.

“What does my wittle kitty want?”

Jackpot! A man (and I use the term loosely) speaking baby talk? He reached across the table and tried to take Wittle Kitty’s hands. Kitty ignored.

“Is oo a wittle bit mad?”

Oh. Dear. God. I kicked Nick’s shin to get his attention.

“No kicking,” he said unquietly, not looking up from the book.

“Kitty? Oo wuvs me, wight?”

“Jesus, Alec, can you drop the LOL Kitty talk? I hate those damn things,” she hissed (appropriately, I thought).

“I fawt oo wuved da LOL Kitties!” Alec said, making a pouty lip. “Oo wuvs dose kittehs! Wemember, Pwitty Kitty?”

“God. Lou, can I get a beer, please? A Bud?”

“Um, Lainey, sweetie,” Alec said, using normal diction. “It’s only one o’clock.”

“Lou? A Bud?”

“Coming up,” the bartender answered, frowning.

The LOL Kittys man recovered. “Well, what looks good, honey? Other than you, that is?”

She sighed pointedly. “I’ll have a quesadilla with barbecued chicken.”