He rubs his hand over his chin, making scratchy noisesthanks to his five o’clock shadow. The masculine sound sets my body on fire.
“Howl at the moon fun, you say?” he asks with a guarded smile.
“Yeah, like something you did in high school that I missed out on.”
I know that’s a tall order, and the look on his face underscores it. After Birdie left home, my mom homeschooled me, and for all intents and purposes, I disappeared off the face of the planet. At least to Hollister’s school kids. In other words, I missed out on everything.
Travis looks like his brain is working overtime. “I’m trying to think back to that time and the stuff I did with my high school buddies. I’ve already invited you to dinner without any luck, and you didn’t sound too interested in a drive-in movie. Shit, what would eighteen-year-old Trav do right now?”
A wicked grin lights up his face. “Okay, that would make you blush. Let me think of something a little more wholesome.” Suddenly, he glances my way. “I know just the thing. But you’ve got to promise you’ll relax and enjoy yourself.”
Curiosity consumes me. “Really? What is it?”
“You’ll see,” he replies, bringing my hand to his mouth, adoring my fingertips with the softest kisses. The action sends shivers of pleasure trailing up and down my arm to my heart. “But do I have your promise you’ll relax and have fun?”
“Yes, I’ve turned over a new leaf. Consider this the new and improved me.”
He shakes his head. “Please don’t say that. I like you just the way you are. All I’m asking is for you to try to stay in the moment and have a good time. Get out of your head a little. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Chapter Nine
TRAVIS
We drive towards the sunset for a ways before stopping at a clunky old gas station that looks like its better days happened around 1957. I buy snacks and drinks while filling the Chevelle from the gas cap underneath the back license plate.
Standing by the passenger side back tire, Faith kicks at an oil stain in the pavement with her light brown tooled boots as I pull up beside her with a brown paper sack.
“What’s in there?” she asks.
“Beer, water, and snacks,” I reply. “Considering it’s our first date, I’d like to take you out to a fancy restaurant. You look amazing, but since I’m wearing my work clothes, I’m guessing you wouldn’t feel too comfortable with that. And it’s not exactly the night you requested anyway. But Mac, the owner of this place,” I say, thrusting a thumb over my shoulder towards the gas station, “swears by a little barbecue joint up the road a half mile. He said to look for a worn-out sign with a flying pig. I figure we’ll get food to go and head tothe hot springs.”
“Hot springs?” Her eyes round, and her eyebrows fly up into her hairline.
I shrug. “I had other plans in mind, but you said to keep it fun. Something I would have done as a teenager.”
“But I don’t have a bathing suit with me or anything.”
I can tell by how her face colors she’s about to bolt like a spooked horse, so I reassure her, “You can wear your bra and panties in.” Her eyes look like saucers now, and I add, “Your tank top, too, if you like. Whatever makes you comfortable, sugar.”
Her face relaxes, and I let the craziness of this unexpected night sink in. Now that I’m trying to get into a teenage mindset, I can’t help but shake my head and laugh. The idea of going to the hot springs with Faith Jenkins would have been unthinkable. Akin to seeing pigs fly. Maybe tonight, we’ll get a little of both.
I hear the click of the fuel pump and hand her the brown paper bag before bending down to remove the pump handle and screw the gas cap back in place. After returning the pump handle to its spot, I head back to pick up a couple of bundles of wood I paid for, along with some newspapers for kindling.
Faith claps her hands together. “Are we going to have a campfire?”
“I wouldn’t do a night at the hot springs without one. Of course, back in high school, it would’ve been more like a bonfire. But as a firefighter, I’ve got to be more responsible. You’ll still get the full effect, though.” These are all standard parts of high school living in Rough & Ready, and stuff I haven’t thought about in ages.
Back on the road, Faith enthusiastically points out the sign. Sure enough, it’s a flying pig—one that could use a paint job and some repair work.
Inside, we meet Harvey and Grace, the old-timers who run the place.“What brings y’all to this neck of the woods?” Graceasks. Her gray hair sits atop her head in a poof like a silver cream puff.
Harvey’s hair contrasts with hers, a straight shock of white. She’s curious and won’t stop chatting, but moving him past a grunt feels like kayaking up a waterfall.
“Just headed out to the springs,” I answer.
Grace looks over her glasses at us. “Aren’t you both a little old for that?”
