Page 17 of Last Minute

The easy way he responds makes me smile. He may have learned his German during an assignment, but he speaks it like he was born there.

“What other languages do you speak besides German?” Erik asks.

“I’m fluent in five. English, German, French, Spanish, and Italian. And I know a little bit of Norwegian. Although, I do know a handful of formal greetings in a few dozen languages.”

“Norwegian?” Erik sounds impressed.

I shrug. “I spent a semester abroad in Oslo.”

“What did you study?”

“Is this one of your questions?”

Erik takes a moment to think about it before he nods.

“Chemistry. You?”

“Astronomy. But I spent five years as a police officer before moving into private protection.”

I smile at the small bit of personal information Erik has offered up. It’s like a little gift. Not wanting to push my luck too far, I go with a more generic question next. “Who is the best superhero?”

Erik answers without missing a beat. “Superman.”

I laugh. “Is that because you look like him?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. They sound too flirty, like I’m comparing him to the incredibly attractive superhero or the actor who plays him. But I’m going to own it, like I’m not dying a little inside. The key to being confident is pretending you are until your beliefs become reality. Fake it till you make it.

“Not the only reason, but it’s a bonus, I suppose. He’s a classic, and although I can’t support the red underpants over the suit, he’s still the best.” Erik’s eyes flick to me. “Your turn.”

I hold Erik’s gaze as I say, completely serious, “Superman.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and I suddenly feel too warm for this small car. I look away, admiring the changing colors of the leaves that line the interstate.

“If you weren’t a princess,” Erik asks as I let my face return to its normal temperature, “what would you want to do as a career?”

“Teach at university. Share my love for chemistry, and hopefully inspire the next generation.” I turn back to Erik, my momentary overheat forgotten. I smirk as I turn the question back on him. “If you weren’t a princess, what would you want to do as a career?”

Erik rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that question applies to me, seeing as I am not a princess.”

“Fine,” I agree, “if you weren’t an EPA, what would you want to do as your career?”

Erik is silent for a long time, and I’m worried I’ve pushed too far. I know it’s unusual for him to answer all these personal questions for a client, but with each little tidbit he offers up, I want to know more. I have an insatiable curiosity for all things Erik Donovan.

“I wanted to be an astronomer when I was a kid. It started as my dad’s hobby, and we spent many weeks during the summers taking camping trips and stargazing. He taught me so much about constellations and the history behind them. He shared his love for the stars, and it became my love, too.” Erik takes a deep breath before continuing. “When he died, I lost all desire to pursue it as a career. I dropped out of college and went into law enforcement. So I don’t know what I would do if I had to switch careers now. I don’t have a fall back or a secret passion I’d like to make a career out of. I have what I have and I’m grateful for it.”

My eyes drop to Erik’s tattoos, where I can see the trees melt into mountains, silhouetted in a night sky with constellations wrapping around his forearm. Erik must notice my gaze because he says, “I got that piece a few months after he died. It was like keeping a piece of him with me. But I couldn’t bring myself to finish my degree without him here. All the plans I made involving that path in my life felt empty without him.”

My heart squeezes, not only for Erik’s loss of his father, but for how similar his feelings are to my own. Without plans, I feel directionless and empty. I’m learning how to go with the flow—if this impromptu road trip has taught me anything, it’s that I can make a plan and still be flexible with it. I can pivot when the situation requires, and my plans won’t be completely useless. It’s like I’m learning to build a castle instead of a house of cards.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell Erik, slowly reaching out my hand. “May I?”

Erik looks at me, then shifts his right hand from the steering wheel to the gear shift so that it’s within my arm’s reach. I trace one of the constellations, the only one I recognize.

“The Big Dipper. Part of the larger constellation Ursa Major. That was the first constellation my dad taught me how to find. Because using it, you can find Polaris, the North Star.”

I find a similar looking constellation and trace it.

“The Little Dipper. Also known as Ursa Minor. The star at the end of the ‘handle’ is Polaris.”

I continue tracing the constellations Erik has tattooed on his arm, and he tells me about them.

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