Reluctantly, I pass Ruby to him next, pouting as they exchange farewells. That could bemehugging her close, kissing her hair and telling her how much I love her. But no, it’sRoman. “She’smysister,” I mutter under my breath, mocking. “I’ll take all her love and affection and leave none for you, Elodie.”
Will slings his arm around my shoulders and laughs. “It’ll be okay,” he assures me. “You’re still number two in her heart, right after me. Silly ole Roman’s at number three, I assure you.”
“I can hear you lying over there,” Roman grunts over Ruby’s head, glaring at Will.
Unrepentant, Will smiles. “I’m an honest lad,” he assures. He crosses his heart with his fingers, then sticks his tongue out at Roman.
Roman sighs, rolls his eyes, and lets Ruby go. “We have to get driving now,” he says. “I don’t want to get there too late.”
I snort. “It’s six-thirty in the morning, and the drive is six hours. We’re not going to be anywhere near the sunset.”
He grunts, rounding the car to the driver’s side.
I share a look with Will before giving Ruby a final hug, then climbing into the passenger seat. I roll my window down to wave. “I’ll miss you so much!”
Ruby’s mouth hitches, and her hand lifts in farewell. “Relax!” she calls. “Restore!”
“Roman, this is aroad trip. You don’t eat fancy healthy snacks out of a cooler in the backseat on a road trip. You stop at the nearest gas station, load up on questionable snack packs, candies, and the biggest fountain soda you can get, then you get in your car, roll down your windows, turn the radioup, and drive. You’ve been on road trips before! You should know this!”
His mouth turns down, ferocious in his disgust. “If you want soda, you can drink some of the homemade stuff I packed. It’s lemon-lime, your favorite. And I made Cheez-Itsfrom scratch, Pop-Tartsfrom scratch, buckeyesfrom scratch, and puppy chowfrom scratch. Plus fruit mix, chicken salad, and croissants—also madefrom scratch. You’re telling me you’d rather eat gas station slop than gourmet food prepared by a trained chef?”
I mean… “It’s aroad trip.”
He sighs, put-upon, and reaches blindly into the backseat, grabbing our little red cooler and plopping it into my lap.
I grunt. This thing isheavy.
“Look through there. Try some things. If you’re dissatisfied, you can go into the gas station to buy your slop when we have to stop for gas.”
That’s… compromise. I guess.
“Fine. I’ll try your fancy-schmancy snacks. But I want it on the record that I do not believe any homemade anything is going to hit better than a half-melted Reese’s cup and an overflowing Styrofoam cup full of Sprite.”
“Noted,” he deadpans. “Can you open one of the black cherry sodas for me?”
I do, careful not to let the carbonated liquid explode all over the pristine interior of his car, then get a lemon-lime one for myself. It’s… good. I guess. Perhaps the best soda I’ve evertasted, if I’m forced to be honest. “It’s all right,” I tell Roman. “It’s no forty-two ounce Sprite or anything, but it will do… for now.”
“Uh huh,” he drawls. “I’m sure.”
I slide the cooler to the floor between my feet to peruse the snacks later. Priorities dictate I get some tunes going, STAT. It doesn’t take long to hook my phone up to the radio and start blasting my favorite playlist, a mix of songs that hit nearly every genre, tone, mood, or occasion. I skip until I find a song to fitthisoccasion, then dig into the cooler.
I grab a little bit of everything, roll my window down, turn the music up, and grin.
“Road trip time!” I declare. The wind grabs my hair, whipping my curls around me as I shove a buckeye into my mouth. My eyes widen.Yum. Better than a Reese’s cup, for sure.
I hate it when Roman’s right.
Roman shakes his head, eyes on the road as his lips twitch. His mouth forms words I can’t hear over the music.
“What?” I yell.
He shakes his head again, turns the music up another notch, then revs the engine, shooting us down the highway.
Aha. An agreement.
Road trip time!
Chapter Twenty-Three
