Page 100 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
“A little of both,” I said, grabbing our carry-ons from the overhead bin. “Definitely a little of both.”
Outside, the heat hit us like a wall. The rental lot shimmered in the sun, rows of sedans and SUVs baking under a wide sky.
Then she saw it.
“You rented a truck?” Claire blinked at the matte-black Tacoma parked in spot B12.
“Four-wheel drive. Good suspension. You’ll thank me later.”
She stared at me. “Is this a kidnapping?”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
I shook my head, unlocking the truck. “Would you get in the car already? I promise the ransom note is very politely worded.”
“You’re lucky I trust you. Otherwise, this would be the part where I start texting my location to my emergency contacts.” She climbed in, folding her arms over her chest in a grand, overly-dramatic show of being mad, but the corner of her mouth was fighting a losing battle against a smile. “And maybe start screaming.”
“No need to scream,” I said, opening her door for her. “Well, maybe in twenty minutes, when we lose cell service.”
Watching her squirm, a mix of playful suspicion and fake outrage, was better than I’d ever imagined. This. This easy, flirty back-and-forth was everything. I shut her door, a grin I couldn’t control spreading across my face as I walked to the driver’s side.
The drive started with highways, flat, endless, dotted with pump jacks and dust devils. Claire tried to guess our destination, throwing out names like Marfa, El Paso, and “some weird art installation in the desert.”
I just smiled and let her speculate.
By hour two, the landscape shifted. Fewer buildings. More scrub. The GPS lost signal. Claire’s ponytail was now a messy bun, and her sunglasses had migrated to the top of her head.
She looked out the window, then back at me. “Where are you taking me? There’s literally nothing out here.”
I shrugged. “Exactly.”
She let out a long, dramatic sigh and slumped back against the headrest, but I saw the smile she was trying to hide by turning to look out her window.
We turned off the main road onto a gravel path marked by a small wooden sign:Loma Prieta Rd.The tires crunched over loose rock. Dust kicked up behind us like a trail of breadcrumbs.
Claire leaned forward, squinting. “Is this the part where you tell me we’re camping?”
I didn’t answer.
Three miles in, the road narrowed. Mesquite trees flanked us. The mountains in the distance looked like they’d been painted in layers—blue, then purple, then rust. The air smelled of sunbaked earth and dry cedar. I rolled down the window. The temperature had dropped into the high sixties, and the breeze felt like a reward for the long drive.
Then we crested a small hill, and she saw it.
Domes. Sleek, white geodesic domes were tucked into the desert basin like a cluster of futuristic bubbles. Each had a private deck with lounge chairs, a telescope mounted and ready. There were shaded outdoor kitchens, fire pits, and actual bathrooms. Solarpanels glinted in the sun. A hammock swayed lazily between two posts.
Claire’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
“This is… not camping.”
I put the truck in park and turned to her. “Happy birthday.”
She unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out slowly. Her eyes did a slow scan of the setup, the solar panels, the tiled outdoor shower, the hammock swaying in the breeze.
“You arranged this all for me?”
Her voice was soft, almost disbelieving. She took a slow step forward, her eyes glistening under the desert sky. She brought her fingers to her cheek, quickly brushing away a tear before it could fall.
“No one has ever…” she began, but her voice caught, and she just shook her head, a look of pure wonder on her face.
