Page 40 of Inflame

“How do you expect me to get over this thing we have growing between us? I’m entertaining suggestions.”

“The onlythingcontinuing to grow is distance,” Claire states. “Don’t mistake it as anything other than revulsion.”

My hand moves to place a piece of hair that escaped her hairband behind her ear. Her breath picks up, and I can see the sweat beading on her forehead that has since cooled from the blasting air pushing out of the vents. She is affected by me. Lying to herself may keep her content for a while, but she will eventually cave and admit what I do to her.

Claire turns her attention back to the gears and places the car in reverse, pulling out of the parking lot. She exits the park following the signs and is on a stretch of road that lacks curves and drivers, other than Graham who is following steadily behind us.

“Gun it,” I instruct.

I watch as her eyes light up. She pushes down on the gas pedal without hesitation, and the engine proves it can jump speeds within seconds. We fly down the road, dust blowing in our wake.

“Stay on the damn road, Claire, or I’m taking over.”

“I am,” she squeals, elated to be able to drive.

If she wasn’t so bad at it, I may be more inclined to ride shotgun in the future. I grab the steering wheel as she tries to avoid a freaking squirrel. But at this rate, I doubt I’ll ever have the willpower to allow this reckless behavior to happen again.

“You can’t be swerving for damn rodents going one hundred,” I scold. “Take it down to eighty. We’re going to be getting close to town. Do you know where we are going or do you need me to pop open my GPS?”

“GPS, please.”

“Address?” I inquire.

“Type in cactus garden.”

“Haven’t we seen enough cacti?” I inquire, truly dumbfounded that we need to go look at more.

“This is different. You’ll see.”

She is so excited over going there that I know I’ll be watching her reaction more than I’ll be looking at some thorny plants.

“Take it down to fifty,” I instruct. “Shit, Claire”—I grab the dashboard with both hands as the car trembles from the force—“you don’t need to slam on the damn brakes, woman. Go gradual.”

“That was me being gradual,” she mumbles to herself.

I feel my jaw release, causing my chin to drop. She has to be the worst driver on the planet. “You want them to wreck behind us?” My phone buzzes, and I answer Graham’s call.

“You need to drive,” he says coldly. “What were you thinking?”

“Try telling her that. I’ll handle it.” I end the call and glance over at a giddy Claire who cannot seem to get the smile off her face. She is oblivious that Graham and I were talking about her. I don’t want to end her happiness. I want to bring her more. “Take the off ramp,” I instruct. “Easy! This is a merge lane, and you’re supposed to yield.”

She follows my directions, as Graham tails us from behind. When we pull up to the self-guided chocolate factory and cactus garden, the little girl inside of Claire comes out full force. She cuts the engine and hops out of the car, jumping up and down with excitement. I resist telling her she double parked.

Angie joins her in excitement, as they give each other two-handed high-fives. Never have I seen two people who love tourist traps as much as these two.

“Let’s take a group photo in front of the sign,” Claire expresses, pulling out her phone. She looks around the area and then pouts out her bottom lip that I want to bite. “Crud, there’s no one around to take the picture.”

“Here, use my selfie stick,” I say. I completely forgot I have been carrying it around in my shorts pocket since this morning. On the hike, we had another hiker snap some pics for us, so there was no need to use it. During breakfast, the waitress took one. This is the first time today that we need the stick.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the unicorn stick that Claire got me for Christmas when she came to my parents’ house in Hillsboro. It is rainbow-colored and has little unicorn decals all over it. The main handle is covered in fur, and it would be the perfect accessory if I were a thirteen-year-old girl. Seeing Claire’s eyes smile, I know that she is channeling her inner teen girl spirit.

“You brought it?” she asks, staring as I extend it. I laugh at the shocked look on her face.

I clip on my phone and turn it to selfie-mode. I set up the Bluetooth with ease and get the device linked to take some pics.

“I take it everywhere I go,” I say seriously, making her burst into laughter at the falsity of the statement. I snap the picture right in the moment, followed by several others. We then gather as a foursome around the sign, still sweaty from the hike, and pose for a few more shots.

We start at the chocolate shop first and do the self-guided tour, where we learn about the manufacturing process and how the factory operates. It’s a short presentation that ends in the store side of the building, where Angie asks basically for four of everything—maybe so she can share her bounty with all of us. However, with her, there are no guarantees. She may just binge on all of it herself. Graham just goes along for the ride, not giving a second glance at what she buys or how much it costs. If she wanted the entire store, I’m pretty sure he would purchase it for her.

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