That got her attention. "Touché. Again."
The afternoon wore on, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. Lila had pulled out a small notebook at some point and was jotting things down, occasionally mumbling to herself. When I glanced over, I could see neat, precise handwriting filling the page, along with what looked like a detailed timeline.
"Are you... replanning your entire trip right now?"
She didn't look up. "I'm adapting. Isn't that what you're supposed to do when plans change? Roll with it?"
"Yeah, but most people don't need a flowchart to roll."
"This is how I process," she said defensively. "Not everyone flies by the seat of their pants."
"And not everyone needs a minute-by-minute itinerary to function."
She looked up then, her expression challenging. "What would you know about my itinerary?"
"I saw that fancy planner blowing away in the desert," I reminded her. "Color-coded tabs, highlighted sections. That thing probably had bathroom breaks scheduled down to the minute."
"It's called being prepared."
"It's called being uptight."
"I am not uptight!" she insisted, voice rising enough to make me grin. "I just like to know what's coming."
"Because you need to control everything."
"Because I've learned that when I don't plan ahead, bad things happen."
There was something in her tone—a raw edge that hinted at experiences I knew nothing about. It made me pause, the teasing remarks dying on my tongue.
"Fair enough," I said quietly.
She seemed surprised by my concession, studying me with those dark eyes that saw more than I was comfortable with. For a moment, I had the unsettling feeling that she could see straight through the bullshit to the parts of me I kept carefully guarded.
The mood shift was subtle but unmistakable. A new awareness hung in the air between us, neither of us quite willing to address it.
As dusk approached, I kept an eye out for a decent place to stop for the night. We'd made good time, but we were still a solid three hours from Foxfire Valley, and driving mountain roads in the dark wasn't ideal.
"We should stop soon," I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us. "There's a motel up ahead with a decentdiner attached. We can grab dinner, get some sleep, and hit the road early tomorrow."
Lila nodded, but I could see her mentally readjusting her plans again. The woman really didn't like surprises.
The motel appeared on the horizon, a single-story structure with a neon "VACANCY" sign glowing in the twilight. It wasn't fancy, but it was clean and reliable—I'd stayed there before on trips back and forth to Southern California.
The office was small, with wood-paneled walls and the persistent smell of lemon cleaner. A gray-haired woman sat behind the counter, reading a paperback with a shirtless cowboy on the cover. She looked up as we entered, her gaze moving between us with open curiosity.
"Evening," I said, approaching the counter. "We need two rooms for the night."
She smiled apologetically. "Sorry, hon. Only got one room left. Tour bus full of seniors broke down about ten miles east, and they took everything else."
Lila made a small, strangled sound beside me. I glanced at her, then back at the clerk.
"What size bed?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"King," the woman replied, looking amused now. "Plenty of room for both of you."
Lila stepped forward, her professional smile firmly in place. "Is there another motel nearby?"
"Not for another sixty miles, and Bert over there isn't nearly as clean as we are." She nodded toward the window, where we could see another neon sign flickering in the distance.
