SIX: Taryn

SIX

TARYN

Ten minutes feels like an eternity when considering if I can survive twenty hours locked inside a car with James.

I’ve gone through all the worst-case scenarios, watched James stuff the trunk with enough luggage and gear for a month-long trip, and yet, the most awful outcome I can think of is not making it to see my family.

“I thought you were serious about getting to Colorado, Taryn.” James taps his watch. “I’m not standing here all day.

“I am, I am.”

“Then what’s the hold up?”

Georgia, if something happens to me, this is the phone number ofthe manI was last seen with. 555-4534

Driving home with a coworker due to the storm. See you soon, Cameron.

“Nothing.” I slide my phone into my pocket. “But given our circumstances, I think we should establish some rules for the road before we leave.”

“I’m listening.”

“We should take breaks every one-hundred miles to prevent exhaustion.”

“ Two hundred miles,” he counters. “At your rate that’ll add extra hours, and I doubt you want that.”

“Good point. Well, between us, I think we can do ten hours each if we rotate driving at these points, too.”

“What else?”

“No pettiness whatsoever, and no discussions about work,” I say. “Oh, and we’ll need to stop for lunch around three if you’re against stopping for snacks before we hit the highway.”

“There’s some in my black bag.” He looks amused. “Any other rules or suggestions?”

I tap my chin, trying to think of any, but my mind is blank.

“I have a few of my own.” He picks up my suitcase and tosses it into the trunk. “Number one, whoever’s driving controls the radio.”

“But you have terrible taste in music...”

“Number two, no long personal phone calls.” He ignores my comment. “If we get desperate for conversation, we can talk to each other.”

“Fine.”

“Lastly, keep your hands to yourself.” He holds the passenger door open for me. “I know that’ll be the hardest part for you.”

“Seriously?” I roll my eyes and walk to the other side. “Whenever I’m not driving, I’ll be sitting in the backseat .”

“I’d prefer if you sat in the front with me.”

“Give up the radio and I’ll consider it.”

“Go ahead and get comfortable back there then.” He slides behind the wheel, not willing to compromise on that at all.

“I’ll nap until it’s my turn.”

“Good idea,” he says. “I’m sure getting arrested for a felony is exhausting.”

Refusing to let him get under my skin this early, I bite my tongue. I pull out my eye mask and unfold one of his blankets.

He types The Grace Estate into GPS, and I focus on the mile counter: 1,380 miles.

I shut my eyes and lean against the window when he pulls away.

I’ll sleep for the first two hundred miles…