“More than I care to,” he replies and then fixes me with a look. “I grew up in that life, too, remember?”

That life. He says it as if labels and luxury negate any substance. People may live different realities, but the truth is always the same.

I clear my throat, reaching out for one of the cases. “I can take something.”

“It’s okay.” He shakes his head. “We’re good.”

I carry my pack on my back and hold the handle of my carry-on, while he grips my two rolling suitcases.

I’m ready to move, but he’s looking down at me, something timid but also amazed in his eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“No, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “You just look like your mother.”

I drop my eyes. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, and it’s a compliment, to be sure. My mother was beautiful. Charismatic, statuesque…

It just never makes me feel good, though. As if everyone sees her first.

Gray eyes, blonde hair, although mine is the natural sandy shade while hers was colored to look more golden.

My darker eyebrows are my own, though. A small source of pride. I like how they make my eyes pop.

He inhales a deep breath. “Any more?” he asks, and I assume he’s talking about my luggage.

I shake my head.

“Okay, let’s hit the road.”

He leads the way toward the exit, and I follow closely behind, as we maneuver our way through the sparse crowd and outside.

As soon as we step into the sun, I inhale the thick late-August air, smelling the blacktop and the trees lining the parking lot beyond. The breeze tickles the hair on my arms, and even though the sky is cloudless and everything is green, I feel tempted to unwrap the jacket tied around my waist and put it on. We cross the walkway, barely needing to look for cars, because traffic is worse in line for the valet at my parents’ country club on a Sunday afternoon. I like it. No horns or woofers shaking the pavement.

He stops behind a black truck, but instead of popping down the tailgate, he just hauls my suitcase over the side and into the bed. Reaching back, he takes my other case and does the same.

I pick up my carry-on to help, but he quickly grabs that one, too, the tight cords in his arm flexing and shining in the sun.

“I should’ve traveled lighter,” I think out loud.

He turns. “It’s not just a visit.”

Yeah, maybe. I’m still not sure, but I thought it was best to bring enough for the long haul if I decided to stay.

We climb into the truck, and I put my seatbelt on as he starts the engine. On reflex, I reach for my headphones around my neck. But I stop. It would be rude to tune him out, having just met him. My parents never took issue, but they asked me not to wear them around others.

I release the headphones and stare at the radio instead. Please let music be playing.

And as soon as the truck rumbles to life, the radio lights up, playing “Kryptonite” loudly, and for a second, I’m relieved. Small talk hurts.

He pulls out of the parking lot, and I clasp my hands on my lap, turning my head out the window.

“So, I checked into it,” he says over the radio. “We have an online high school that can take care of you.”

I turn my eyes on him.

He explains, “We have a lot of kids here who are needed on the ranches and such, so it’s pretty common to homeschool or complete classes online.”

Oh.

I relax a little. For a moment, I thought he expected me to attend school. I had prepared myself for living in a new place, but not getting accustomed to new teachers and classmates. I barely knew the ones I’d been with for the past three years.

Either way, he needn’t have bothered. I took care of it.

“I can stay at Brynmor,” I tell him, turning my eyes back out the window. “My school in Connecticut was happy to work with my…absence. My teachers have already emailed my syllabi, and I’ll be able to complete everything online.”

The highway starts to give way to the sporadic homes along the side of the road, some 80’s-style ranches with rusty chain-link fences, bungalows, and even a Craftsman, all hugged by the dark needles of the tall evergreens around their yards.

“Good,” Jake says. “That’s good. Let them know, though, that you can be offline for spells as the WiFi at my place is spotty and completely goes out during storms. They might want to send your assignments in bulk, so you don’t get behind during that downtime.”

I look over at him, seeing him glance away from the road to meet my eyes. I nod.

“But who knows…” he muses. “You might just be running for the hills after a week up at the cabin.”

Because…?

He cocks his head, joking, “No malls or caramel macchiatos close by.”

I turn my eyes back out my window, mumbling. “I don’t drink caramel macchiatos.”

It’s reasonable for him to anticipate that maybe I won’t feel comfortable with them or that I’ll miss my “life” back home, but suggesting I’m a prima donna who can’t live without a Starbucks is kind of dicky. I guess we can thank TV for the rest of the world thinking California girls are all valley twits in tube tops, but with droughts, wildfires, earthquakes, mudslides, and one-fifth of the nation’s serial killings happening on our turf, we’re tough, too.

We drive for a while, and thankfully, he doesn’t talk more. The town appears ahead, and I can make out carved wooden statues and a main street of square buildings all attached to each other on both sides. People loiter on the sidewalks, talking to each other, while potted flowers hang from the light posts, giving the place a quaint, cared-for vibe. Teenagers sit on their tailgates where they’re parked on the curb, and I take in the businesses—everything mom and pop and nothing chain.

I look up, seeing the large hanging banner right before we drive under it.

 

Chapel Peak Smokin’ Summerfest!

August 26-29

 

Chapel Peak…

“This isn’t Telluride,” I say, turning my eyes on him.

“I said it was outside of Telluride,” he corrects. “Wayyyy outside of Telluride.”

Even better, actually. Telluride was a famous ski destination—lots of shops and high-end fare. This will be different. I want different.

I watch the shops pass by. Grind House Café. Porter’s Post Office. The Cheery Cherry Ice Cream Shop. The…

I turn my head to take in the cute red and white pin-striped awning as we pass a small shop and almost smile. “A candy store…”

I used to love candy stores. I haven’t been inside one in years.

Rebel’s Pebbles, I read the sign. It sounds so wild west.

“Do you have your license?” he asks.

I turn my head back facing front and nod.

“Good.” He pauses, and I can feel him looking over at me. “Feel free to use any of the vehicles, just make sure I know where you’re going, okay?”

Any of the vehicles. Does he mean his and his sons’? Where are they, by the way?

Not that I expected them to be at the airport, too, but it kind of makes me nervous that they might not be excited about me coming if they weren’t there to greet me. Something else I’d failed to consider. They had a comfy, testosterone-infused man-cave, and here comes the girl they think they’ll have to guard their dirty jokes around now.