Page 37 of The Kiss Countdown

When he gets back? Our deal will be long done by then. I won’t read too much into his comment, however. MaybeVincent is the type of person who makes hypothetical plans. Like how you might run into an old friend from school and, after making small talk, express how good it would be to catch up over coffee, knowing it will never come to pass.

Vincent continues. “Once my siblings and I graduated and moved to different cities, my parents packed up and moved to Houston. Mom’s dad built the cabin though, so they’ve kept it and still go out there for regular visits.”

“Let me make sure I have everything correct. Your mom’s name is Cheryl and your dad is William. You have two siblings, and you’re the oldest.” I look at Vincent, and he frowns slightly, opening his mouth before he shuts it and nods. “Camille owns an OB-GYN clinic with your mom. Brianna is the youngest. She’s a guidance counselor in Dallas, and she’ll be there with her dog.” I mentally recall the list he sent to me after much prodding and a small threat to box up his coffee machine while he was gone.

“Right,” Vincent says. “That reminds me, did you bring your allergy medicine?”

“Yes, dear.” I coat my voice with mock sugar and obedience. I smile when Vincent rolls his eyes before merging onto the highway.

Ooh, did I finally hit on something I can use to get under his skin? Are cringeworthy nicknames his repellant?

I place my elbow on the armrest between us and lean in close. “We should have nicknames for each other, shouldn’t we? That way your family really gets the hint that this is all very serious. What should I call you? Hmm, let me think.” I squint. “How about honey bun? Or Vincey-poo?”

Instead of cringing, the infuriating man smiles. “I’m glad you’re finally warming up to the idea of nicknames. Call me whatever you want.” He looks thoughtful as he strokes his chin. “I do like Mimi for you, but I think baewould work too. That’s what the youngsters are still saying these days, right, bae?”

“The fact that you used ‘bae’ and ‘youngsters’ in the same breath should already tell you that’s not happening.”

“Okay, okay. How about wifey? Baby girl?My precious?” He says the last in his best Gollum voice.

I shift back and cross my arms. “I think you’re done.”

He laughs and reaches over to squeeze my thigh. I swallow hard, glad to be sitting down. Otherwise, it would be evident how his touch has me weak at the knees.

He puts both hands on the steering wheel to switch lanes, and I look out the window. This is going to be a long visit.

I decide to stay awake for the drive. Vincent turns on a playlist of smooth jazz, and I sit back and watch as the scenery changes from flat roads to acres of green farmland dotted with cattle and goats to steep rolling hills as we venture deep into the heart of Hill Country.

“Are you doing okay over there?” Vincent says.

I’m holding on to the armrest for dear life. At my high-pitched “Mm-hmm,” Vincent quickly glances at me, and it’s all I can do not to yell at him to keep his eyes on the road. No way he missed the sign that readsCaution, Fallen Rocks.

We’re passing through hills—though they look more like mountains—going around some of the steepest curves I’ve ever seen. Limestone cliffs line one side of the road—Vincent’s side—while nothing but a short, metal guardrail separates me from a long tumble down.

“So you’re serious about that scared of heights thing, huh?” Vincent says, but I don’t respond.

I don’t have time for his nonsense when my heart is trying to leap out of my chest. Is this what I missed out on by not traveling as a kid? If so, I’m not mad at my parents at all.

I close my eyes and try to talk myself out of a full-blown panic attack.

Vincent is an astronaut capable of navigating spacecraft and helicopters. He can certainly drive this truck around a few crazy roads.

Blessedly, we come out of the latest curve; however, I see that while the road may be straight, there are still many dips and hills we have to pass over. My stomach can’t take this. I turn toward the window and try not to throw up all over Vincent’s shiny dashboard.

Vincent reaches over and pulls at the hand I have wrapped around the armrest in a death grip. “It’s better to focus on other things instead of how scared you are,” he says gently. “Squeeze my hand and count to ten. It’ll help, I promise.”

Right, it’ll help. Just like he said the virtual reality experience wouldn’t be scary. But what else can I do at this point but trust him?

Slowly, I let go of the armrest and put my hand in his. His is so much larger than mine, but I squeeze for all I’m worth, counting to ten and taking slow breaths. It does seem to help.

I loosen my hold on him, but my stomach lurches when we go down another steep dip.

“You’re doing good,” Vincent says. “Keep counting.”

I squeeze again, this time counting and concentrating on the smooth texture of the back of his hand compared to the rougher part of his palm. It’s warm, and quite secure. I have a mind to thank him, but in the middle of my sixth round of counting, I doze off.

What feels like the blink of an eye later, I’m awoken to Vincent shaking my shoulder.

“Amerie, wake up.”

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