Page 18 of Truck Stop Tempest
“Why don’t you have a car?”
Rolling her head to look at me, she sighed and said, “I do. Or, I did, but it’s back in Rockypoint. Where it will stay.”
I waited for an explanation. She studied me for a moment before shaking her thoughts away and saying, “It’s a long story. I’ll get a new one soon. Saving up. Almost there.”
Rockypoint was a small town, about an hour north of Whisper Springs. I wanted to probe. I refrained. Her story. Her timeline. I assumed that, like me, there were things she needed to keep private, and she had damn good reasons for needing to do so. So, I didn’t pry.
Before the bus screeched to a halt, Tuuli slipped her feet back into her nude-colored heels. Shamefully, I watched, admiring the arches of her small feet, the smooth curve of her calves. Her skin was pale, but flawless, like rare, opulent china. My fingers were rough and worn, but damn if I didn’t want to drag them up the length of her legs anyway.
I licked the dryness from my lips, smiling when I tasted the remnants of her lip gloss.
“This is us.” Tuuli nudged me with her elbow and pushed to stand.
I followed her off the bus and into the fresh air. We headed toward downtown Whisper Springs, the small, yet slowly expanding city nestled on the rim of Lake Willow.
My uncle owned most of the city, from real estate, to media, to hospitality and entertainment venues. Carlos Rossi was the king of Whisper Springs, making my cousin, Tango, the prince and heir. As a kid, I had stayed with my cousin every summer. Defiled three of my aunt’s dance students in Lakeside Park, and suffered my first broken arm thanks to a skiing accident on the very water we were heading toward.
“Where should we eat?” Tuuli asked, bumping my shoulder while she avoided a deep crack in the cement.
“Somewhere close. You’re not wearing a coat again.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her body tightening against a shiver.
Jesus, what did the girl have against outerwear?
“Here,” I said, pulling my sweatshirt over my head.
Tuuli stopped in her tracks. “Really, I’m fine.”
I held my hoodie toward her anyway.
“Listen. I don’t expect you to understand, but I haven’t bought myself anything new in a long time.” She looked down and smoothed her hands over the fabric at her waist. “I’ll probably never get to wear this again. It feels good to dress up, and I don’t want to cover up with a coat. I might sound stupid and immature, but I need to enjoy feeling pretty for one day.”
God, she had no clue how gorgeous she was, make-up or not, dress or not. Another personality trait I found attractive. I tugged my sweatshirt back on. Tuuli watched, smiled, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re pretty every day, Bunny,” I said, then tucked her under my arm.
She didn’t pull away, and damn, that felt good. She did, however, ask, “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you warm,” I replied, and then steered her into the first restaurant we came across.
It wasn’t until we’d started on our three-bean soup and meatball subs that she asked, “Why did you call me Bunny?”
I only smiled.
I had smiled four times by the time we finished eating.
By the time we finished eating, Tito had smiled five times. The last was only half a grin, but I’d take it. He had a beautiful face, and when he was happy, his eyes crinkled at the corners. The warm, olive shade of his skin seemed even darker in contrast to his white teeth. And his eyes…dear Lord, his eyes, they burned, glowing like molten glass still being shaped over the fire.
The conversation stayed casual, neither of us breaching our unspoken personal boundaries. When I stole a glance outside, the sky had darkened, and minuscule drops of water dotted the sidewalk.
“It’s raining,” I said, crinkling my napkin between my fingers. “I should head home.”
“No. Not yet.” He swallowed his last sip of coffee. “Something I wanna show you. It isn’t far.”
I glanced at the large, farm-themed clock hanging over the counter. If I stayed with Tito, I’d miss the last bus. Meaning I’d have one long, miserable walk home, meaning I for sure would freeze, and undoubtedly ruin my dress. On the other hand, I could call a cab. Did people do that anymore? Or was Uber the better option? I had no idea. Also, I had no cell, so Uber was probably a no-go, anyway.
“Okay.” I pushed from my seat. “But I’ll miss the last bus home. I don’t have a cell. Could you call me a cab when we’re finished?”