Page 69 of Thoroughly Pucked

THE NICE MAN

Aubrey

I’m chased by those thoughts as we explore a nearby mining town. Is this what they want—to be traipsing around a small town on a replacement honeymoon? Just because I had a room reserved?

Is this even fun for them?

Maybe Ledger’s having a good time. He can’t seem to get enough of the history of this ghost town. He’s reading all the plaques in the museum as we check it out, then chatting with the tour guide who takes us through the tiny town, showing us creaky old cabins where miners once lived, then the local watering hole.

“This was once a saloon,” the grizzled guide says before he swings open the twin doors of the erstwhile bar, taking us into the abandoned establishment. “A lot of folks think California was the only gold rush territory, but we had plenty of mining here too.”

But do my guys evenwantto be here? Would they rather be someplace else? What’s ontheirdream list? Well, besides National Grilled Cheese Day for Dev. Maybe I’ll ask them later, because right now Ledger seems happy enough.

As Ledger launches into his reporter’s list of questions about the town, Dev and I take that as a cue to wander a bit, checking out the old wooden bar, a piano that doesn’t work in the corner, and a sign for the outhouse out back.

Is he happy enough?

I’m about to ask, but he’s faster to the question draw. “So, this is another Aubrey thing?” Dev asks as we survey some old mining equipment outside the bar.

“I’m a little obsessed with ghost towns,” I admit. “I loved visiting them in California on family trips when I was a kid. Garrett hated them. Maybe that’s another reason I liked them. Vexing my brother.”

“A damn good reason,” Dev says, then stares off in the distance at the train tracks several hundred yards away. “See, I think you’ve got a traveler’s heart.”

I feel a little giddy from the comment, from the way he seems to see me. “You do?”

“You like adventure. You like trying different things. You’re not afraid. I think it’s just who you are.”

I seize the chance to understand him better too. “And who are you?”

With a playful grin, he says, “You tell me.”

It’s said like he wants me to know him. He folds his arms, waiting, with a tease of a grin. I study him,thinking about his Daily Dose of Good. His genuine affection for people. But his superstitions too. “You like learning things and seeking the positive. You like understanding the world. You want everything to go well though,” I say, and…wow. I might as well be looking into the mirror.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I really want this trip to go well for you.” Then he leans closer, his voice husky. “In and out of bed.”

“Spoiler alert: itisgoing well,” I say, feeling a little tingly from the compliment, but also how he’s managed to weave one in so seamlessly.

Still, that nagging voice doesn’t let up. But with Ledger enrapt in the tour, now’s not the time to ask them about their adventure lists. Instead, I grab the winery postcard from my bag and thrust it at Dev. “It’s not the same as offering to be my honeymoon tribute, but I wanted to get you a little something,” I say.

He takes it, his smile spreading slow and pleased as he regards the image on the front—a grape harvest. “This is an awesome gift.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s just?—”

“Nope. I love it.”

My heart beats a little faster. Maybe this is his daily dose of good. “Why do you collect them?”

“I started when I was, I dunno, thirteen or fourteen. We’d just moved back to California from Minnesota,” he says, jogging my memory. He was born in San Diego, moved to Minnesota, then returned to Northern California. “And I’d had a run of bad games. I was trying toget my footing in a new place, and then I grabbed a postcard from a road trip to Monterey and my gameplay started to turn around. It felt like a good sign.”

“And it has been?”

“I haven’t looked back since. So yeah, maybe it has. Maybe if I collect enough, I’ll get a cup.”

There’s that ambitious side of him rearing up. It’s so strong in him, maybe just as strong as the side that’s upbeat and kind.

I wonder how hard they war with each other.

When the tour ends and we head to the town gift shop, I find him another postcard, then I grab a book—a brief history of ghost towns for Ledger. After I pay surreptitiously, I sneak both into my bag. As we head out the door, we weave to the side, ducking out of the way of family photo hour. A girl with long black braids strikes a playful pose near the porch railing as someone down the stairs takes her pic. A young blond boy stands on the porch of the museum gift shop, likely flashing a grin at his mom who’s down the six or seven wooden steps, snapping a shot of him in front of the old town sign.

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