Page 10 of The Road Trip Romance

I pause mid-bite and try to figure out how to explain my rash decision. I finish chewing to give myself a moment. And in the end, I decide honesty is the best policy.

“Sorry about that. I…” I pause as I swallow back a sudden rush of feelings. Sophia’s hand darts out and squeezes mine as if sensing that I’m upset. I look into her eyes. “I may have had a little unfortunate outburst in public this week.” I stop and she gives me a knowing look. “You already know that, huh?” She nods.

“I thought when Carol asked Marti for my address that maybe Lacey wanted a signed book,” she says as she watches me lather more peanut butter onto a second slice of apple.

“We broke up,” I confess before I can even think about it.Fuck.I probably shouldn’t have told her that. I need to keep my shit together.

Her eyes widen. “You did? Like, this week?” she asks, her voice rising an octave.

I look down at the plate and shake my head. “No, months ago. We’ve been keeping it quiet until some projects wrapped up, so we weren’t swarmed by paparazzi,” I explain. I have no idea why I’m telling her all of this. I met this woman hours ago and here I am spilling my secrets to her. There’s just something about her. From the moment I met her, I felt as if I could trust her with anything. It’s a foreign feeling, but a good one. It just feels nice to talk to anyone. I haven’t even spoken much about this to the guys yet. Rex would definitely tell me I’ve lost my mind sitting here in this woman’s house telling her about my breakup.

Her hand squeezes mine again. “I’m sorry to hear that, Tate,” she offers. “Is there no chance that you’ll get back together?”

I finish the last slice of apple as I contemplate her question. “No, I don’t think so,” I say sadly.

“Maybe if you could just talk to her,” she suggests.

“Sort of impossible right now,” I explain. “She’s filming in this little town in Montana. She won’t be done for another month.”

“You could go to her?” Sophia says.

Or I could stay right here.“I don’t know,” I mutter as I get up and bring my empty plate and glass to the sink.

“Oh, I got that,” she insists as she reaches for the plate.

“No, sit down, Sophia. You’ve had a long day. Let me do this. Are they dirty?” I ask as I point to her dishwasher. She nods and I go about putting the dishes in it.

She yawns. “Point me in the direction of the playroom and I’ll let you get to bed,” I say as I walk back toward her.

“Sorry. I’ve been trying to get the kids ready to go to Mark’s house, my ex. It’ll quiet down after they leave tomorrow,” she explains. “Come on, it’s this way.” She stands and opens a door to a staircase, and I follow her down into a playroom.

She opens a cupboard and pulls out some sheets, a blanket, a pillow, and a towel. “The bathroom is in there. And you can open the sofa bed by pulling it here,” she adds, motioning toward a tab under the cushion.

“Thank you. I really appreciate all of this,” I say as I motion around us.

She laughs. “Right, like, the Barbie house or the Legos?” she asks as she points to some of the toys sitting out on the floor.

“Well, at least I have something to do if I get bored,” I tease.

She grins. “Tate Anders, you are most unexpected,” she says as she heads toward the stairs.

“I hope in a good way,” I say.

She pauses with her hand on the railing. “I think so,” she says with a laugh as she bids me goodnight, leaving me sitting on the sofa bed surrounded by dolls. I look down at one.

“I didn’t make a mistake by coming here, did I?” I ask it. “I sure as hell hope not.”

CHAPTERFIVE

Sophia

For about five seconds after I wake, I forget all about what happened yesterday. My mom brain is alight with getting the kids to hockey camp, going by the office for a few meetings, heading back here to finish working on a grant, and making sure the kids are packed when Mark stops by to pick them up after work. And then…the events of the last twelve hours come crashing back into my brain.

I sit up with a start. It’s then that I begin to smell something. Frowning, I climb out of bed and open my door.Yes, I definitely smell something.And I hear voices. I’m so transfixed by the noise and smell that I don’t think about my appearance as I walk downstairs and into my kitchen, where I find Tate Anders cooking breakfast while talking to my children.

“And we did that in a big sound stage,” he says as he flips pancakes. The kids stare at him completely transfixed by whatever he’s telling them.

“Oh, hey, Mom,” Cal greets me as he grabs a slice of bacon from a plate on the kitchen counter.

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