Page 107 of A Very Merry Mistake

“Right this way.” She snatches it out of my hand, and I grab my stuff, then follow her outside.

“Nice-ass truck.”

“It’s a rental,” I tell her. “Drives great, though.”

She runs her hand over the smooth, dark gray hood and down the side. “Slide your card, and I’ll get ya goin’.”

So I do. Then she removes the green cap from the fuel tank and picks up the green handle.

“It’s diesel, ma’am. Had you put the other one in there, you’d have messed up the fuel system and been stranded. Ain’t many people on the roads at this time. Most are at the Winter Solstice Festival right now.”

“Shit, I’m glad I asked. That would’ve been bad.”

She replaces the nozzle. “Yeah, it could have. You feel free to stop by anytime. I’m always here. My name is Ginger. My family owns this place.”

I hand her another hundred. “Thanks, Ginger. I’m Claire. Hope you have a Merry Christmas. You just saved my ass.”

“Aww, thank you. I could say the same about you,” she tells me, shoving the money in her pocket. “And Merry Christmas to you, too. You headin’ to Merryville?”

I nod. “I’d like to make it to the tree-lighting ceremony, but I’m not sure if I will.”

She checks her smartwatch. “Better haul it. Starts in thirty minutes. But hey, if you miss it, it’s not the end of the world. There’s going to be a lot to do. Oh, and you have to try the apple cider. It’s incredible.”

“I will. Thanks again.” I give her a wave, then veer onto the country road. When I finally pass a sign that tells me it’s fifteen miles to Merryville, my heart throbs. I will make it there, or at least that’s what I think until I see flashing lights behind me.

“Fuck!” I yell, hitting my palm against the steering wheel, slowing down, and pulling over on the side of the road. That’s when I look at the GPS and see I’m eight miles outside of town. This is almost exactly where I ran out of gas the first time I visited.

“You’ve got to be shitting me. How is this even possible?” I mutter.

Moments later, the officer comes to the driver’s side window, and I push the wrong button so the passenger one goes down. Eventually, I find the right option, and it slides down.

He looks at me with a lifted brow, and I can’t help but notice the cowboy hat. “Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”

My anxiety grabs hold of me, and I feel a jolt of adrenaline course through my body. “No.”

“For one, you’re bakin’ everyone with your high beams. Your windshield wipers are on, and it’s not raining yet. You were going twenty miles over the speed limit and ran off the road several times.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, not disagreeing. I’m sure all those things are true.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

I look at him like he’s crazy. “I’m not drunk. I just don’t drive a lot, and I’m not used to this truck.”

The windshield wipers groan as they nudge across the dry glass.

“Can I get your license and registration?” he asks.

“It’s a rental, but I have the paperwork. One sec.” I grab the contract, then my wallet, and pull out my driver’s license, the real one with my legal name. I only use the fake one to hide my identity when I travel because most of my reservations are made under Claire Chester.

The officer shines his bright-as-fuck flashlight on it, and I see him read New York across the top. “I’ll be right back. Hang tight.”

My nerves are shot as I impatiently wait. I’m sure he’s pulling my driving record, and I know he’ll find nothing. I don’t get behind the wheel enough to have any violations. But speeding is a first for me. I can’t wait to tell my sister.

“All right. Well, I need you to step out of the vehicle, because I’d like to do a sobriety test if you don’t mind.”

“Fine. I’ve had nothing to drink, though.” I exit the truck, and he leads me to the back, where I see his vehicle. Across the side it says State Trooper. The last thing I need is to go to jail.

He leads me to the side of the road, and the lights on top of his car are blinding, so I squint. The expression on his face is hard as stone as he makes me do a sobriety test. After I touch my nose, follow his finger, and walk in a straight line, he concludes that I’m not intoxicated.

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