The Real

“Okay,” he said with a chuckle.

“Okay.”

He pressed his full lips together, trying to stifle a laugh. “How mad are you?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Yes.”

I looked out the window and shook my head. “I’m really not. I just want us to get through this and have our weekend. I could use a steak.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No more apologizing. If I must be stuck here, I’d rather it be with you. You know that.”

“I do now.”

“Cameron,” I said with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

“This was really sweet. Even if you are going to indirectly kill me in the woods.”

He reached out a hand and brushed some hair away from my face. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

“I believe you believe that.”

“You don’t think it’s true?”

“I think you’d do everything you can to make it true. But you can’t promise me anything bad won’t happen. It’s not in your power.”

“You’re right.”

“I don’t want to be,” I said in a whisper, “but I know better.”

“Well, I can promise you this,” he whispered back. “I can promise you I will never bring you to the woods again as a surprise and end up stuck in a fucking creepy dead-end driveway in a snowstorm.”

I laughed and pulled

him to me. “Good enough.”

“God, you smell so fucking good. What is that?”

“My shampoo, I think. I don’t know. I have an entire bathroom counter of girly crap on.”

“It’s fucking tasty.”

“Tasty?”

“Yes, you smell good enough to eat.”

My stomach rumbled.

“And you’re hungry,” he said, gripping the wheel and rocking back and forth in aggravation, jostling me in his lap.

“Look at you,” I said with a laugh. “Getting all moody. I bet you’re sexy pissed off.”

“I just feel like I could be doing more. What in the hell was I thinking? I live in Chicago and forgot to get snow tires! In my defense, I bought this out of state.”