Page 47 of Tangled Up In You
“I’m prepared.”
“But God, Ren, those are boring options. Duct tape? A frying pan?”
“How is duct tape boring? It’s the most useful tool on the planet. It can be used in the place of nails, or for waterproofing. I assume, since this is an imaginary apocalypse where I can only have three things, that this roll of duct tape would be never-ending. And a cast-iron frying pan can be used to boil water, for cooking, as a shovel, or to bash in a zombie’s brain. What about you?”
“I guess I’d take my phone—”
“Are you expecting there to be power in this apocalypse?”
“Don’t you get never-ending duct tape? Why don’t I get power?”
“Okay, sure.”
He thought on the other two. “My pillow and a gun.”
“I hope you’re planning to use that gun to bludgeon people, because if you get power you don’t also get unlimited bullets, and after about a week, with no bullets that’s all a gun will be good for anyway.”
“The rules of this game aren’t very clear.”
She grinned at him. “Should’ve picked a frying pan.”
“I’ll just make sure I still have you with me in any apocalyptic scenario,” he said before the wording had time to bake. Ren went still, and then slowly turned her body, facing forward. “Okay, my turn,” Fitz said, quickly changing the subject. “I want you to answer my question from before. If you could go anywhere right now—except Atlanta, that is—where would you go?”
“I’m still thinking. Where would you go?”
He shook his head. “I asked you.”
She pointed out the window at one of the ubiquitous billboards they’d passed over the last hundred miles. “I want to go there.”
“Wall Drug? Not, like, Paris or Istanbul?”
“I’ve got no idea what could possibly be so exciting it needs this many giant billboards, but I think I need to find out.”
He glanced at the fuel gauge. They’d need to fill up again before Kansas City, but not quite yet. Two days ago, it would have been a quick no—he had a schedule he’d wanted to keep, and besides, this trip hadn’t been for fun. But as he’d already realized this morning, the original plan was crumbling; Fitz hadn’t been able to deny her any adventure, no matter how small.
So right then, he made a deal with himself: He would give Ren her adventures, but that’s it. No more of this unfamiliar, perseverating attraction.
Without overthinking it more, Fitz exited, parking in front of a long metal-sided business with giant signs that informed them Wall Drug had been open since 1931.
Turned out it wasn’t a single building but dozens in a long line, interconnected so that from the inside it felt like one giant store. And it was enormous, absurdly so. Ren went quiet and tense, and Fitz slung an arm around her shoulders, playfully warning her, “Stick with me, Sunshine, this place might be more dangerous than the Screaming Eagle.” But at the feel of her small frame pressed into his side, he no longer cared that he’d left his jacket in the car; warmth spread up his fingertips and down into his chest.
They wandered, browsing the merchandise, pointing to silly hats and T-shirts they joked about getting, and after about five minutes he realized he still had her pinned comfortably to his side.
Pathetic, he chided himself. Your resolve from the parking lot lasted barely two minutes.
Unease spread in his chest at how easy and comfortable this was all starting to feel. Instinct was a kick to his gut: Don’t get too comfortable. That’s when things fall apart.
When she reached up to touch his hand on her shoulder, drawing his attention to a T-shirt that read FARM GIRLS HAVE GREAT CALVES, and her hand lingered on his, Fitz abruptly dropped his arm. Ren startled, taking a step away from him. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Meet me in the café,” he said, rolling past this before realizing how harsh it had sounded. With a weak smile, he pointed to the café sign. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
At the sink, Fitz stared at his reflection. A tremble began in his chest and worked its way up his throat until he jabbed a finger under the collar of his shirt, pulling it away as if it was keeping him from drawing in enough air. When was the last time he’d looked at himself in the mirror? The last two or three days he’d been standing beside Ren at the bathroom sink, looking only at her.
He liked her. Too much, in fact. And she liked him, too. He knew she did. But God, this would be so much easier if she didn’t.
He had an interview for an internship in a matter of days and, beyond that, a clear sight to his endgame. Internship near Mary, law school, takedown of Fitzsimmons Development. Revenge wasn’t imminent, but it was out there, hovering patiently in the future. Truly the last thing he should be doing was flirting with a woman who was so naive and only knew how to take things sincerely, talking with a woman who could get all his secrets to pour out of him like water from a pitcher, falling for a woman who would put her unscarred heart in his broken hands.
“You’re not her boyfriend,” he said to the man in the mirror. His jaw tensed, and the worst truths slipped out unimpeded. “She’s too naive to know how to handle herself. She’s work you don’t have time for.” Fitz stared at his own reflection, expression hardening. “And more importantly, she’s way too good for you, so don’t even bother.”