Cross Country Christmas (Woodfalls Girls 1.5)

When I was able to clear the image of his six-pack from my mind, I looked around at all the possible places a bug could hide. I debated going to the car to sleep, but the thought of freezing my butt off held me back. This was officially shaping up to be the worst holiday season ever. I should have followed my instincts and opted for a sandy beach instead. It was too late to cry over spilled milk, so I came up with a plan where I could hopefully get a little sleep. I started off by pulling the bed away from the wall. Thankfully it wasn't bolted down like everything else in the room. Once the bed was as far away from the walls as I could get it, I stripped it to make sure there were no more unwanted guests hiding in the sheets. After shaking them out, I replaced the fitted sheet on the bed and wrapped the remaining sheet around my body papoose style so nothing could crawl up my bare legs again. Only after I tucked my head under the sheet did I feel somewhat safe from any more creepy crawlies. I left the light on and fell into an uneasy sleep that involved dreams with naked chests covered in bugs.

Scratching noises on the ceiling above woke me the next morning as I emerged from the safety of my sheet cocoon. I pulled my head out in time to see two roaches scurrying across the ceiling right toward the bed. Biting back a screech, I jumped off my bed, not thinking about the sheet that was tightly wrapped around my body. Twice in two days I found myself flat on my back with the breath knocked out of my lungs. Hell. If this wasn't Christmas hell, I don't know what was.

"I'm not sure I would have picked the floor to sleep on," Grant said as his face came into view. "It looks a little rough down there."

"Bite me," I wheezed, struggling to my feet. One thing was clear; I couldn't have done a better job wrapping myself in the sheet. With it tangled around my legs, I pitched forward, landing directly in Grant's arms.

"You've gotten pretty forward with age," Grant teased, wrapping his hands around my biceps to steady me. "I mean, biting you doesn't sound like that bad of an idea, but we should probably build up to that."

"Very funny," I snapped. It was aggravating that I couldn't seem to get my act together when he was around. When I finally managed to untangle the sheet from my legs, I threw it across the room in a fit of anger. It fluttered harmlessly to the floor, taking the oomph out of my action.

Grant threw his head back, laughing loudly. Ignoring him, I stomped off to the bathroom only to return a moment later for my boot. Six smashed bugs later, I was dressed and ready to leave the roach motel behind.

By the time Grant joined me, I was already in the car with the engine running. He refrained from commenting as I tore out of the parking lot like the hounds of hell were after us. Twenty seconds later, I was muttering every swear word I knew under my breath when flashing lights showed up in my rearview mirror. "Not a word," I told Grant, who was smirking. I glared at him, even though I was more pissed at myself. Go figure, I'd get my first-ever speeding ticket now. This was the cherry on top of the crap sundae these last few days had been. I rested my head on the steering wheel and counted to ten so I wouldn't lose my shit with the approaching highway patrolman.

Grant kept his mouth zipped as the officer wrote me a ticket for going fifty in a thirty-five mile-per-hour zone. My teeth ground together as he called me "young lady" and pointed out that maybe I should leave the driving to my boyfriend. The temptation to drive the vehicle over his condescending ass was strong, but I could only imagine what jail would have in store for me with the luck I'd been having. After fifteen minutes of being reprimanded on safe driving, the sexist, asshole cop finally let us go. I left the odious town behind, clenching the steering wheel in a death grip. To Grant's credit, he kept his mouth closed. I swear if he would have commented, or if I would have seen so much as a smirk on his face, he would have been walking home.

Fifty miles of silence later, I finally cut my eyes over at Grant. "Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Oh, hello. Am I allowed to talk?" he asked, sounding amused.

"My humiliation is a never-ending source of entertainment for you, isn't it? Has there ever been a time when I wasn't doing something you could make fun of?" I complained, taking the next exit that boasted several restaurants. Without asking for his preference, I pulled into the parking lot of a quaint-looking diner.

"Making fun? Is that what you think I've been doing?" he asked, unfolding his six-foot-plus frame from the car. He groaned as he worked the kinks out of his body. "I swear, riding in a coffin would be more comfortable," he complained, bending over to stretch his back. I expected him to elaborate on why I thought he'd been teasing me our entire lives, but he continued to whine about the size of the car as we made our way into the diner. The air outside was brisk. I shivered, staring up at the low hanging clouds in the sky. I had lived in a snowy state long enough to know when a bad storm was coming.

The warm restaurant, on the other hand, was absolutely heavenly. "Wow, I think an elf threw up in here," I said sarcastically. It's not that I hated Christmas decorations. All the rotten luck over the past couple of days had just made me overly cranky.

"I think they're cool," Grant said, taking in the endless array of mismatched Christmas decorations covering every available wall space. There were multiple Nativity scenes and each one seemed to be missing pieces. I couldn't help wondering why they didn't combine them into one complete set. It was impossible to count the number of Santa Clauses scattered around, but I did spot five Christmas trees in varying sizes. Whoever decorated them had quite the sense of humor. The funniest one was decorated using different beer cans as ornaments.

"How many?" an elderly waitress asked, looking up from a table she was wiping down.

"Two," Grant and I answered in unison.

"Aww, aren't you two so cute," she said, grabbing two menus from the hostess stand. "My husband and I used to be in sync like that. Of course, now he's too busying fiddling around in his workshop to be in sync with anything else." She winked at me conspiratorially. Neither Grant nor I bothered to correct her assumption that we were a couple since she had already moved on to another topic. In the short walk to our booth, we learned she had been married thirty years and had two daughters that now lived out of state. Grant grinned at me as she placed our menus on a table that sat in front of the long bank of windows that looked out the front of the restaurant.

"I'm surprised you two lovebirds decided to venture out. That storm is going to be a doozy," she said, placing two filled water glasses on our table as the first snowflakes began to fall from the sky.

I kicked Grant's leg when he snorted over her choice of words. "We're just passing through," I answered.

She shook her head before I finished getting the words out. "I'm not sure that's the best idea. This storm is supposed to stretch across six counties. I guess if you have four-wheel drive you might be able to make a go of it," she commented, glancing out the window.

Grant and I looked at each other, trying not to laugh. The only way we would have four-wheel drive was if we picked up our matchbox car and placed it in the bed of the nearest Ford truck.

"I'm thinking you'll be with us the next few days," she chirped cheerily, obviously thinking the same thing. "Now what can I get you to drink?"

"Coffee," Grant answered.

"I'll take the same," I answered, peering out the window. I was distracted by the snow that was already falling harder. There was no way we could be stuck here for two days. We were still more than seven hundred miles from Woodfalls, and Christmas was in four days. My mom would have my head if I didn't make it there for all the pre-Christmas festivities.

"Don't worry, I'm sure this storm isn't as bad as she's making it," Grant said like he had read my mind. I pulled my eyes from the window and saw that he was studying me as intently as I had been studying the falling snow.

"I hope not. My mom will kill me if I don't make it home for Christmas," I mumbled, fidgeting with my spoon on the table.

"I'll get you home," he said confidently, sitting back in his chair.

"Oh, you'll be driving?" I teased.

"When I say 'I'll get you home,' I mean more figuratively," he answered.