One of the dives visited on a later episode was the Coyote Bluff Café. Brynn gasped when she recognized the parking lot where she caught the bouquet, and when she looked at Jamie, he pressed his lips into a thin smile, but that was all she got.
For ten years she had what would be called a less than stellar love life. It wasn’t as if she full-on pined for Spencer Matthews for a decade. But yes—the reunion dredged up old memories and questions. What if Jamie hadn’t kissed her that night? What if she’d never gotten sick? If she’d made it to the end-of-the-year party, would Spencer have been the one? Would he have been the one two weeks ago? And what did that mean for tomorrow?
The funny thing was, Brynn thought she’d already answered that question. She loved Jamie. But he didn’t trust her feelings. He loved her, but she didn’t trust his ability to outrun his fear. Maybe he was right. They were stuck and needed to figure out a way to believe in each other, so she’d give Jamie what he needed and hope she’d get what she needed in return—him.
She had bitten the bullet and texted Spencer back, telling him she wasn’t sure if she’d make it by Friday even though she knew she would. Committing to spending the night with him felt all sorts of wrong, and she wanted to tell Jamie this, that even when they made it to L.A. tomorrow she wouldn’t stay with Spencer. She’d see this thing through, go to the book launch on Saturday, but that would be it. Her thoughts were interrupted by Jamie, wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, exiting the tiny space that was otherwise known as the bathroom.
“Keep your limbs inside the vehicle at all times,” he said, raising a brow. “It’s like playing Operation trying to get through there.”
Brynn giggled quietly. The doorway that separated their two beds was barely wider than a human body.
“I’ll make sure to keep my spastic gesturing to a minimum.”
He smiled, and she felt a tiny weight lift from her chest. Not enough to tell her they were going to be okay, but breathing got a little easier.
“Just be careful, B. Wouldn’t want you losing a hand or anything.”
“I appreciate your concern,” she told him. “I’m just going to let Holly know we’ll be in L.A. tomorrow, and then I’ll wash up for bed. And about tomorrow, Jamie—”
“Can we continue not talking about tomorrow?” he asked. “I know it was my idea, but that doesn’t mean I’m excited about it.”
She nodded. Fine. They had eight hours in the truck for her to make her final case, to tell him she was spending tomorrow night in L.A. with him—and not Spencer.
“Good night, B.” He pulled the T-shirt over his head and climbed into bed, his back to her. She watched the muscle and bone of his shoulder work in tandem as he situated himself for sleep, and all she could think was how much she wanted to be there with him, his arms around her, convincing her they would be okay. It wasn’t sex she thought about now, only the comfort of being close to him and the promise that however this trip ended, they’d still be Jamie and Sleepy Jean.
She turned off the TV and texted Holly:
Everything’s a mess right now. I’ll be in L.A. tomorrow. Headed to book launch Saturday.
Holly’s reply came in seconds: Wanna talk?
Brynn: Can’t. No privacy in the teepee.
Holly: Teepee?
Brynn: Teepee.
Holly: Call me when you get to L.A.?
Brynn: Yeah. Love you.
Holly: Love you.
As much as she wanted to talk to her sister, she knew Holly couldn’t make her decisions for her—or Jamie, for that matter. She changed into a T-shirt and shorts right there in the open, and Jamie never turned around. She grabbed her toiletry bag from her suitcase and left her glasses on her pillow so she could wash up for bed.
Arms at her sides, Brynn concentrated on not severing a limb as she stepped toward the narrow doorway. But as luck would have it—or maybe this was finally karma rearing its ugly head—she never had to worry about her limbs. She made it through the doorway and, thinking herself out of the woods, never saw the metal towel rack coming.
She could blame her haste. Or maybe her need to lighten the mood with Jamie. But when she spun to poke her head out of the tiny doorframe to tell him she made it unscathed, her new friend—the metal towel rack, of course—greeted her forehead with a crack.
She was too stunned to cry out, but it didn’t matter. Jamie was there in a flash, the face-to-metal contact enough to rouse him from any faux or actual slumber.
“Jesus, Brynn!” He whipped one of the towels off the evil rack and pressed it to her forehead. “You’re bleeding. What the hell happened?”
He pulled the towel back to get another look and winced.
“How bad is it?” she asked.