Page 29 of Rock and a Hard Place

“If you’re hoping to keep a low profile, I don’t think this is the best way.” The flashy red Jeep would stand out in small-town Rockville. The country roads led to the heart of historic downtown.

“I couldn’t resist. I can park in a dark alley if you want,” Peter said.

“I’m not worried about me; I just figured you wanted to keep things quiet.”

“Fans expect to see Jamieson as a group, not one of us out alone wandering middle America. Plus, I brought a hat.”

Libby shifted comfortably in her seat. Tonight was just them, flying under the radar. She’d managed to avoid Aunt Marge this afternoon. With any luck, the woman would be strung out and oblivious to Libby’s whereabouts. If not, well, Libby didn’t care anymore. She’d turn seventeen next summer, and that was practically eighteen.

“Turn right at the stop sign, at Fourth Street. It takes you straight to Main.” Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of driving into the heart of town with Peter Jamieson. She felt the need to pinch herself.

They drove down the quiet neighborhood streets lined with giant oaks. Old Victorian homes stood witness as they passed. A bend in the street led them over an old stone bridge and the Rock River.

“This place is amazing. It’s like stepping back in time.”

“It is pretty.” Libby absorbed it with fresh eyes. She always thought of Rockville as a purgatory she’d been forced to endure, not a quaint little town.

They drove past the town square, where a pavilion graced the center, and stone benches were scattered in the tree-filled park. Fall leaves coated everything.

“It looks like a cool hangout place. Do you spend much time here?”

“Nope,” she answered without regret. “It’s too far frommy aunt’s house, almost five miles. I ride the bus to school and don’t have my license, let alone a car to drive.” She stopped asking permission to get her license months ago. Aunt Marge said it would only lead to bad behavior.

At first, Libby didn’t care about getting her license. She worried driving might be a constant reminder of the accident. The pungent smell of gasoline at the crash still haunted her. However, her tolerance of Aunt Marge’s bizarre rules was wearing thin. Since the issue with her dad’s letters, she couldn’t care less what her aunt said or thought.

“That’s why I hang out at Parfrey’s Glen. Anywhere else is too far.”

Peter reached over and held her hand, which amazed her every time. It was as if he could transfer all his strength and confidence to her. She was finding her power again.

After a turn onto Main Street and past a handful of shops, the lights of Ed’s Drive-in appeared.

“That must be it.” Peter approached the drive-up restaurant. A handful of cars occupied spots, each with food trays attached to their windows.

“Yep.” Libby nodded.

“This is going to be fun.” Peter pulled into the lot and parked farthest from the restaurant and the bulk of the other cars.

After checking out the menu, Peter placed their order through a little metal box with a crackly speaker.

“Get cheese curds, too,” Libby added.

Peter gave her a crooked look. “It’s a Wisconsin thing, right?”

“Oh yeah.” She and her dad shared some here the day he dropped her off.

They sat in the Jeep and talked about everything and nothing at all, oblivious to the other diners. When the food arrived, the twenty-something waitress looked twice at Peter but said nothing. As she walked away, she glanced back at him and then Libby, obviously weighing the likelihood of the recognized face belonging to the real Peter Jamieson.

“People don’t expect to see me, so they don’t.”

Peter was here to see Libby and she wanted everyone in town to know it, but she didn’t want to share him, either. She coveted their every moment.

Together, they stuffed themselves with greasy food until Libby thought she’d burst. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten out.

“So you aren’t one of those girls who barely eats on a date?”

“Why wouldn’t I eat?” She sucked the last of her chocolate malt from the bottom of the glass, creating a hollow suction sound with her straw.

Peter laughed. “I don’t know. I guess some girls don’t want guys to see them eating.”

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