Page 7 of The Last Trip

“Oh, that’s okay. We brought plenty of food with us,” Cal says. “Lots of easy, quick stuff to get us by just in case, but I actually like cooking, so I’m sure we’ll manage something.” He rubs his hands together, growing visibly impatient. “I think we’re all set.”

She moves over to the stove, dusting her hand across the top of it, then gestures toward the microwave. “Do you know how to work the microwave? It’s not as simple as it looks, not like the new ones.” She twists a knob on the front as the numbers on the screen bounce up by thirty seconds at a time.

“We’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” Now, Cal’s voice is a bit more strained. He doesn’t like being made to feel dumb.

The woman clears off the time she’s added and turns back around. “Well, I guess that’s all you need from us, then. If anything comes up, and I mean anything at all, you just callor come and get us, okay? We’re the only cabin nearby for quite a ways. We don’t sleep well, so we’re always awake, and our number’s right there on the refrigerator.” She points to the fridge where a list of all of the local numbers is located. “Or just come on by. Like I said, we love visitors. We’re just around a mile down the mountain, straight that way.” She points toward the window on her left, down the driveway. “You can’t miss it. If you call, and we don’t answer, we might be out on the porch or something. So, you just come right on down, okay?”

“Yes. Yes. Thank you. That’s all very kind, but I’m sure we’ll be okay.”

She sighs. “Okay. If you’re sure. Is there anything else you think you might need? We put some salt for the driveway on the porch for the snow and ice. Those steps get slick, let me tell you. But you just sprinkle it around. Melts it right up.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Honestly, though, I don’t think we’ll leave the house. We have everything we need right here. Sadie’s a planner. She has it all under control, I promise,” Cal teases, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing. He’s lying—I’m not the planner, he is—but I guess it’s a better trait for a woman to have in his eyes, so I don’t argue.

Norma looks at her husband, who nods and says, “We should get home.”

“Well, if you do need anything…” She’s staring at me as she says this, studying my stomach, almost as if she’s in a trance. “If you need anything at all, you just let us know, okay?”

“Great. Will do.” Cal drops his arm away from me and moves to open the door. “You guys get home safe now, okay?”

Slowly, the couple comes together. She slips her hand in his, and with one final look my way, they’re out the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HIM — BEFORE

We’ve been seeing each other for three weeks when everything goes wrong. Four dates, plus phone conversations, and I think our fifth will finally get her in my bed. I’m right there—so close I can taste her already—when it happens.

We’re at an Italian place for dinner across town. Far enough away from the university I’m not worried about being seen.

That’s the problem, though—not worrying. It always seems to be what gets me into trouble. If I don’t plan, I don’t think everything through, and things fall apart.

“I don’t see how anyone could think it’s a bad show,” she says playfully. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Some people just have bad taste.” I wink at her, and she kicks me under the table, her jaw slack with obvious delight in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you just said that.” She laughs.

I shrug one shoulder, taking a bite of my baked ziti. The pasta is getting cold now from all the talking, but it’s worth it. In this dimly lit restaurant, she’s especially alluring.

“Besides.” She twirls her fork through her spaghetti slowly, eyes locked on mine. She knows exactly what she’s doing. “What does that say about you if I have bad taste?”

“Are you saying you chose me?”

It’s her turn to shrug. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Fair enough. And let me tell you, I?—”

“Professor?” a husky voice asks from behind me. I freeze, every muscle in my body going tight.

No.

No.

No.

If I ignore them, pretend I didn’t hear a thing, will they go away? Is there a chance they’ll think they have it wrong and disappear?

Across from me, she seems to sense something is wrong, and I have no idea what I was planning to say or what we were even talking about. Slowly, to my right, I see the person creeping around the side of our table.

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