Page 23 of Carried Away

I glance over and he looks like a chipmunk with his cheeks bulging with a gooey cinnamon roll and frosting all over his right hand while he drives with the other one. He glances over at me and his cheeks redden. “I underestimated the mess this was going to make."

I burst into laughter and Livvie shoves a napkin over the seat toward him. “Here, Dad. You’re embarrassing me.”

I take the napkin and grab his hand. “Let me help.”

I cradle his right hand and he opens it, allowing me to wipe the frosting off his palm and each finger. His hand has long fingers, rough, strong, and calloused from all his work towing and working on cars, with a little bit of grease under his fingernails.They're nothing like Dad's hands when he died.

I'd held it when he passed away. They were yellow and wrinkled, with bruises from the IVs.

“Am I good?” Ryan asks gently.

I blink and return to the present. I have Ryan's hand cradled in mine, staring at it. I look away and press my eyes closed for a second, then drop his hand. “Sorry. Yes. Lost in thought, I guess.”

My cheeks warm, and I risk a glance at him.

His brows are furrowed and his full lips have dipped into a frown, but he doesn’t say anything.

I force a smile to show him I really am all right.

Finally, he rips his focus from my face and turns to navigate the road again.

For the next couple of hours, Livvie watches social media reels in the back seat while Ryan and I make small talk in the front. Finally, we crest a hill that overlooks a valley with a massive lake in its center.

Familiarity tickles my senses and I straighten, suddenly aware. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch Ryan sliding glances at me.

The truck meanders down the winding road, closer to the water. Everything looks different yet, similar. The sign has a new coat of paint. Where there used to be outhouses, now stands a cement building. The old wooden picnic tables have been replaced with metal ones. And the trees are bigger.

I roll down my window and feel the cool breeze on my face, smelling undertones of water from the lake and dirt from the desert landscape around us.

“Is this where we first met?” I say, turning to him with wide eyes. A fluffle of bunnies could be scurrying around in my belly the way it’s flipping and flopping.

“Yeah,” he says, not meeting my eyes. He stops in front of a small building next to the entrance and pays for an overnight camping spot, then he follows the curving road through the nearby woods until he stops at a camping space marked 236 and backs his truck in.

The camping spot has a level grassy area underneath a towering pine tree with a firepit off to the side and several stumps which look like they’re used for chairs. Firewood rests in a pile near the fire pit, and a water spigot juts up from the ground between our campsite and the neighboring site.

I step out of the truck and stretch my arms and back. We have a gorgeous view of the lake.

I’m immediately assaulted by a mosquito and I smack the offending bug with my hand.

Ryan pulls a can of mosquito repellant from the door of the truck and circles around the hood to me. “Lift your arms. Let’s get you covered before you become their main dish.”

I oblige and he sprays both sides of my arms, then bends over and starts on my legs. I resist the urge to cover them, thanking the heavens I thought to shave this morning. That would’ve been mortifying.

“Close your eyes,” he demands with the spray can at eye level. “And hold your breath till I’m done.”

I feel the cold liquid hit my face and almost instantly dry on my skin. Then he circles around to my back and gently lifts my hair, exposing my neck. It sort of tickles, and feels oddly intimate.

I resist the urge to shudder at his touch. He’s just putting on bug spray. Nothing more.

When he’s done, he drops my hair, dragging his fingers along my skin, leaving goosebumps in their trail.

“You should be good,” he says, practically in my ear. He’s closer than I expected, and the heat of his breath adds another layer of goosebumps to my first set. Sheesh. I’m going to have a mountain of them soon.

“Thank you,” I say over my shoulder.

He rests his hand where I’m looking. The heat of his fingers sinks into the thin fabric of my T-shirt. “You’re welcome.”

I half expect him to tug on my shoulder, turning me to face him. My stomach tightens, anticipating the move.

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