A Timeless Romance Anthology: Spring Vacation Collection (11 page)

He probably doesn’t think of me every day,
she realized with dismay.
That is, unless it’s in the sense of, “Oh, good. I can get her to take care of something for me.”

She’d gone to the grocery store for him. Dropped off dry cleaning. Picked up a prescription. Run to the post office. She glared at the gray band of freeway ahead. She might as well have been a servant instead of a girlfriend. Sure, he always said thank you. But did he mean it?

And why did I always say yes?
Her brow furrowed as she considered the question. She popped open a Monster drink—the gas station had been out of Red Bull—took a swig, and focused again on the ribbon of road ahead of her. Did she say yes because she truly wanted to be kind and loving to James?

Or was it because I worried he wouldn’t love me if I said no?

Her anger at him eased a bit as she pondered the question. If he’d found an easy way to get things done, could she blame him for using it? She was the one who hadn’t said no when running an errand really was inconvenient. She was the one who jumped at the chance—encouraged him—to give her things to do.

I’m an under-appreciated doormat!
Why hadn’t she felt strong enough to say no sometimes?

In a moment of random insanity, she plugged the phone back in and started up the Chicago play list again. She listened—really listened—to the lyrics of “You’re the Inspiration.” As the song moved through her, she swallowed back tears, telling herself that she couldn’t cry now, not yet, or she wouldn’t be able to drive safely. The truth was, she didn’t want to think about how much she loved James. Had always loved him. Still loved him.

I want to be
his
inspiration. I want him to want me to be with him. But was I ever more than his errand girl?

In spite of her efforts, tears streaked down her cheeks. Their relationship hadn’t been always been so one-sided. He used to call her for no other reason but to say he was thinking about her. She used to find sweet notes he’d slipped into her purse. Texts saying nothing but “Love you.” They used to talk about their future, like seeing the Grand Canyon, or traveling to Rome. Over the course of several months, they’d read
The Count of Monte Cristo
together—the unabridged version. Now she was lucky if he agreed to watch a DVD or go on a ten-minute walk. He was always in a hurry, trying to finish one thing or another. Finally, last night, he’d shown what really mattered to him.

And it wasn’t me.

With one hand, she swiped at her right cheek and then the other. She pushed harder on the gas pedal.

Chapter Five

James could hardly believe where he was and what he was doing—racing across the desert in the middle of the night in hopes of catching Tess, or finding her... somehow.

He also couldn’t believe that he’d called Preston, Carson, and McNeil. He’d left a voice message turning down the internship. It was official. He wouldn’t be moving to New York after all. Which meant he needed to find a place to live ASAP. Even if Tess hated his guts and never wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t be spending his summer in the Big Apple. He felt remarkably calm about the decision—and realized that he’d wanted it more because it was something his parents would have wanted, and he was used to thinking that their wishes were his.

He glanced at the clock, wondering how much of a lead Tess had on him. Hope had said that her sister was driving to their mother’s place in Newport—and even provided an address, which he’d promptly added to his GPS. He shook his head and sighed. Good thing Hope had opened up at least that much; he hadn’t known where their mother lived exactly. California, sure. And a beach rang a bell. Had Tess ever told him where her mother lived? Had he been distracted, thinking of something else, when she did? Or had she not told him, because she knew he wouldn’t remember? Why had he never asked about her family? Did she have siblings besides Hope? He didn’t even know that. What kind of moron of a boyfriend didn’t know things like that?

Yet
she
knew all about him. She asked about his childhood, his school years, his favorite movies from junior high, his first crush. He’d loved how she wanted to know everything about him.
But I don’t know half as much about her.

He pressed harder on the accelerator, determined to find her and change things. Tess always obeyed the speed limit. Using that fact, he did math in his head, figuring out how soon he could overtake her if she kept the law, while he went twenty-five over. It could happen, but he’d gotten a late start. There was a good chance she was halfway to Newport already. What if he came upon her in the dark? Would he recognize her car in the dead of night? And if he did, then what? Would he wave at her, telling her to pull over so they could talk? Would she pull over?

His fist hit the steering wheel, hard. Why had he gotten himself into this mess?

Because I’ve been an immature idiot.

Again thoughts of Tess’s quiet probing questions returned. She always managed to talk about him, learn about him, whether it was on a walk under the stars or over dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant. Why hadn’t he asked the same questions in return? He couldn’t say. Maybe he’d been so flattered, so thrilled to be in her spotlight, that reciprocating hadn’t mattered.

It matters now.

The seatbelt dug into his shoulder, and the seat felt hard beneath him. James shifted his position, uncomfortable for more reasons than that. He was suddenly grateful he’d changed clothes. He looked a sight—jeans and a t-shirt with sneakers, a far cry from the top-of-the-line suit he’d worn a few hours earlier. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and grunted at the sight of his hair standing every which way. His usual attention to grooming now seemed about as important as the internship, meaning not at all. Tess loved him no matter what he looked like; he was sure of that. She’d love him in old sweats with the two-day scruff he grew on weekends.

That’s just the way she was.

He passed a sign announcing an upcoming exit for Buckeye. Hope had told him to be sure to fill his car there, as there weren’t too many gas stations beyond that for miles. Good thing—he wouldn’t have thought to stop if she hadn’t told him to. Truth be told, he didn’t want to exit now, either—any delay would mean increasing the distance between him and Tess. But running out of gas meant not finding her at all.

His Mercedes rolled to a stop at the only gas station he found still open after midnight. After filling up, he went inside to use the restroom—a precaution against needing to make a second stop—and bought a few snacks and drinks to keep his energy up for the drive.

The cashier rang up James’s items and made small talk. “Don’t see too many people in these parts at this hour.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” James said, getting his debit card out. As he slipped the card from his wallet, his head came up. If Hope recommended that he stop here because she and Tess often did... “This may sound crazy,” he began. “But by any chance, did a young woman come through here earlier tonight?” He held his hand shoulder high. “About this tall, light brown hair.”

“Pretty as a peach?” the man said. “I seen a gal about like that not two hours ago. But then, that description could be a lot of women.”

The cashier was right. James nodded, now searching the pictures on his phone until he found a good one of Tess, one taken at another friend’s wedding. A new thought intruded on his mind: How many weddings had they attended together, and how many had been daggers to Tess’s heart? Shaking off the thought, he showed the picture to the man.

“Yep. She’s the one. Came through an hour and a half, two hours ago. Got some gas and food, just like you.”

Tess was
two hours
ahead of him? James’s stomach twisted a bit; what were the chances of him making up that kind of time? Assuming it was really Tess that the man had seen.

“Pretty Mustang she got,” the man continued. “Powerful engine. But good luck catching up to her.” The man chuckled, making his middle jiggle.

So it was Tess then. “Thanks,” James said as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. He swiped his card, gathered his purchases, and pushed the convenience store door open, heading for his car with a determined stride.

Two hours ago, Tess had been here. Or less time than that, maybe.

I’ll catch up to her yet.

Chapter Six

Tess pulled into her mother’s driveway on Irvine Avenue as the velvety dark of night gave way to purple gray. The black sky was gradually surrendering to morning, but the sun had yet to make its appearance. Tess glanced at the car’s clock, surprised she’d made the drive in just over five hours.

No way can I wake up Mom yet.
Tess could only imagine the heart attack she’d give her mother if she tried ringing the doorbell at this hour; she’d answer the door in a frenzy, panicked that cops would be on the stoop, waiting to give her horrible news. Ever since Tess’s father died, her mother had been on the overly protective side.

Tess had a key, but she didn’t dare use that, either—her mother might think she was an intruder and come into the kitchen with the pepper spray from her purse. That would be quite the welcome. No, waiting for an hour—or two—would probably be wise. Tess put her car into reverse and back out of the driveway then headed for the nearby peninsula and the piers along it. This early, the businesses near the beach wouldn’t be open. She’d be able to meander along the boardwalk and think. Ponder what came next in her life.

The drive took her only a few minutes, and she found a parking spot easily; the beach was deserted except for a middle-aged woman walking a dog. Tess snagged her old college sweatshirt from the back seat, locked the car, and headed for Newport Pier. As she crossed the sand, she suddenly hated how little she moved forward with each step—the sand seemed to suck up her energy and drag her back. The adrenaline that had carried her all night was gone, leaving exhaustion in its place. She’d never noticed or cared about that part of walking in sand before, but after last night, even the beach had become a hideous metaphor for her relationship with James: movement without progress.

She finally reached the pier, where she closed her eyes, hugging herself, as she breathed in the salty air.
A new day, a new life,
she told herself as she stepped onto the boardwalk. Soon she’d watch the sun come up behind her, making the sea sparkle like diamonds.

She made her way halfway down the boardwalk, about a hundred feet, then leaned against the rail and gazed out over the ocean as the light turned more gray than purple at morning’s promised arrival. Usually the pier calmed her, focused her thoughts. It was her personal yoga whenever she visited her mother. Not today. Not when thoughts of James plagued her. She tried to get rid of them by closing her eyes and breathing deeply, but his face, his smile, his touch, were there.

Tess sighed, turned to rest her back against the railing, and pulled out her phone, something that was almost a reflex. She almost didn’t turn it on. She’d kept it on Do Not Disturb mode—after removing James from her Favorites list—so only important calls would sound. But she’d see any missed calls and texts now. Her finger hovered over the button as she tried to get the courage to check. Had James called? Texted? And if not, should she care? 

“Enough!” she said, chastising herself. No more of letting James’s behavior—or lack thereof—influence her actions. She clicked the button, and the screen lit up. She swiped her finger and entered her passcode. With a gulp, she looked down. Ten missed calls. Two voice messages. Seven texts.

Her thumb hovered over the text message icon for just a second before tapping it—just to see if they were all from James. They were. She checked the phone log too. All the missed calls and both messages were from James’s number. Good. Let him suffer.

Why am I still caring about what he does? Stop it!
She clicked her phone off and tucked it into her back jeans pocket, gritting her teeth. Again she leaned against the rail, staring over the water, willing the sun to come up and start her new life. She’d freelance from Newport, living in her mother’s guest room until she was on her feet and could afford her own place—one that, granted, wouldn’t be in such an expensive neighborhood. But it would be away from James in Tempe.

Except that he’d be in New York.

Fine. Away from memories of James in Tempe.

In spite of herself, tears welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. At the sound of footsteps on the wooden boardwalk, Tess swiped her face dry with both hands, not wanting some stranger to see her crying. It was probably someone who worked at the restaurant at the end of the pier, heading over to get the place ready to open for the day.

“Tess?”

James? James!

Her heart beat furiously, and she whipped around in shock. With the first rays of dawn slipping over the horizon behind him, Tess couldn’t make out his face at first. But when he saw her turn around, he began running toward her. Adrenaline shot through her. Did she want to see him? Should she send him away? Was her heart hammering with anger or hope?

An image of the party last night flashed into her mind again. That decided it. She folded her arms and glared at him. He was wearing the t-shirt that showed off his defined chest, the one she’d nearly drooled over the first time he’d worn it. Glaring at him suddenly became a challenge.
Focus, Tess!
She hardened her face.

James must have seen her face, because he slowed then stopped several feet from her. Her heart ached—for only a moment—that he hadn’t scooped her into his arms and kissed her. That she hadn’t been able to feel his chest beneath her hands, thread her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back...

Focus!
she ordered herself.
First things first.
“Why are you... I mean, you’re here. How did you find me?”