Page 270 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

“That tracks.”

“And why would I be a terrible passenger?” I toss back at him.

Owen holds up his thumb and forefinger, showing a sliver of space. “You’re just a little controlling. I bet you’d be a back-seat driver the whole time.Shouldn’t you slow down? Shouldn’t you speed up? Let me show you a shortcut. The light’s green,the light’s red, the light’s pink and sparkly. Wait, there’s a duck crossing. Let’s stop and take pictures of ducks,” he says.

“Sparkly pink lights? There are sparkly pink lights in your world of fictional roads?”

“Yes, and you’d point out every single one.”

I shrug lightly. “I probably would. Also, I’d definitely take pictures of ducks,” I say as we roll through the quaint downtown, its stores closing at the end of the day.

“You would.”

The GPS tells me to take a right at the stoplight, and I follow the lead, then let out a long exhale. “Maybe I am tense.”

“Told you that you needed that shower, hot-stone-massage thingy,” he teases.

“Hey! Maybe Declan is going to surprise us with masseurs waiting at the cabin.”

Owen snaps his fingers. “Dammit. You weren’t supposed to guess, River.”

“I better drive faster,” I say, except I won’t and can’t, since we’re chugging up a winding road to the cabin now. The white stuff is flinging itself down from the sky, and the homes on each side of the road boast carpets of snow across their front lawns.

My little car curves around the bend.

Owen peers up at the windshield, taking in the scene. “Snow’s coming faster.”

“Yeah, but I bet it stops soon, and we can still make it to Nisha’s tonight. It’s only five,” I say, staring straight ahead at the white flakes as the sun dips below the horizon.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he says.

But we’ve got to make it to Tahoe. Staying alone in a cabinhereis not in the plan. “Nah, it’ll be fine. It looks like it’ll stop very soon,” I say, trying to will it so with the weather. I nearly believe it myself.

The GPS chirps, “In four hundred feet, your destination will be on your left.”

A cough seems to burst from Owen. “River...” he says tentatively.

“Yes?”

“It’s supposed to snow for a few hours. The roads are slick. Your car is tiny.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, but it’s a rhetorical question.

He’s saying Declan’s family cabin is our hotel room for the night.

Just the two of us.

All alone.

But if that happens, temptation will spiral to the roof. It’ll pull me into its tantalizing grip. Surely at some point, I’ll tell him I want him, and then shove him against the wall. Slam my body against his, jerk him close, yank his hair, and kiss the breath out of him.

And my heart will go wild. It’ll throw a parade and toss confetti as my lips crash down on his.

It’ll cheer me on and shoutmore, more, more.

That’s the problem.

Just because Owen and I are going to a cabin doesn’t mean I can do those things to him.