I grab my purse and hole up in the back seat with one of the advance reader copies my publisher sent me. My brain is a jumbled mess of emotions firing at breakneck speed, so I don’t actually expect myself to focus on reading. I just need a physical barrier between me and Smith and his abs. I skim the front and back cover of the book. It’s a regency romance, which isn’t normally my vibe, but since our romance bookstore will carry all subgenres, I want to stretch my reading palate. I crack the book open and turn to the first page. Sweat glistened like morning dew on the admiral’s taut abdominals. I close the book and chuck it back in my purse.
Maybe a romance novel isn’t the best buffer. Maybe Aidan has a nice car manual he can loan me instead. There shouldn’t be any mentions of abs or sex in a car manual, right? I need something to get me through the next two miles of this bridge, and I’m too scared to pick up my phone again. I always thought technology would be the downfall of society; I just didn’t realize it was going to start with my phone subjecting me to public humiliation. Between the fog and the rain, you can barely see the bay through the window, which means counting sailboats isn’t an option. I could try to sleep, but occasionally I talk in my sleep, and the last thing I need is for my subconscious to embarrass me further.
All of a sudden, all three of our cell phones emit an awful warning sound that makes it feel like the end of the world is upon us. Harriet and Ozzie take turns barking and whimpering, which is only slightly drowned out by Aidan’s panicked breathing.
“It’s just a storm update,” Smith says calmly. “No need to panic.”
“What does it say?” Aidan’s face is about four shades paler than I remember it being at the start of our trip. “Does it say that we’re in a hurricane? This feels like a hurricane to me, don’t you agree?”
“We’re not in a hurricane,” Smith says. “The alert just says that there’s a severe thunderstorm and we should expect travel delays.”
“That’s it?” Aidan’s voice is shrill. “What incompetent institution is in charge of sending those alerts out? I could’ve looked out the window and told you that. How severe does it say the storm is? Like on a scale of one to ten, how close are we to dying in this thing?”
“We’re not going to die, buddy.” Smith pats Aidan’s shoulder.
“But what if we do, and I never get to meet Viktoria in person? What if I end up dying before I ever get the chance to be married? My mother’s only wish is for me to get married.” His foot slips off the brakes for a second, causing the van to lurch forward. “Sorry. Sorry. I . . . um . . . I think I just feel a little hot. Stuffy. Do you mind if I turn on the air-conditioning?”
Aidan fiddles with the temperature dial, positioning all the vents toward him at first and then away. He pulls at the collar of his button-down and dabs at the sweat beading down his face.
“Do you need a bottle of water or something?” I reach for the complimentary bottle in the cup holder next to me and hand it to Smith. “Also, it might not be a bad idea to put the car in park.”
“Thanks.” He takes the bottle, but he can’t steady his hands enough to twist off the lid. “Um . . . I . . . uh . . .”
“I got you.” Smith opens the bottle and holds it out for him. “Take a drink and put the car in park. We’re not going anywhere right now.”
He follows Smith’s directions and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes as he slowly drinks.
“Have you ever had a panic attack?” Smith asks.
“Just once, when I was eleven.” His chest heaves up and down a little faster. “I got stuck in an elevator for seven hours at Horton Plaza. I take the stairs now whenever possible. Do you think we’re going to get stuck on this bridge for seven hours? If I can’t take the bridge anymore, it’s going to really limit my business.”
“I can’t imagine the storm lasting that long,” Smith says. “You just focus on your breathing.”
“I puked in that elevator,” Aidan says. “Several times.”
“If you could not puke in here, that would be much appreciated,” I say. “Ozzie will probably try to eat it, and then I’ll puke, and that will definitely limit your business.”
“You’re not as good at this comforting thing as he is.” Aidan nods toward Smith.
“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
And I have a feeling he won’t be the last.