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I nod. “Yeah, I know. I just hate pointless feelings. Feeling sad about what happened in the past isn’t going to change the future. It just seems like a waste of time and energy.”
His lips twitch. “Because human emotions are all about conserving time and energy. They’re all so cooperative that way.”
I laugh beneath my breath. “Good point.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he takes the exit and turns right on the two-lane highway that will lead us to Mother Meyer’s Mountain Motor Lodge. “Can I ask kind of a personal question?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Have you looked into egg harvesting at all? I mean, you can’t carry a child, but if your ovaries weren’t damaged, you might be able to retrieve eggs for a surrogate to carry down the line.”
I sigh again, regretting taking a single step down this road. “I looked into having my eggs frozen when I was thirty-five. I probably should have done it sooner, when I was younger, and retrieving viable eggs might have been easier, but I didn’t have the money until then. Freezing your eggs isn’t cheap or covered by insurance, you know, and chefs don’t make a ton of money unless they’re working at a swanky place in the city.” I stretch my neck to one side, rubbing at a knot that’s suddenly formed there. “Anyway, it was too late. We tried one round of retrieval, but there was nothing viable. Either I was just born with fewer healthy eggs than other women or my ovaries were damaged in the crash, too. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. The end result is the same. No biological children for me. Ever. Even if I met a wealthy Prince Charming willing to pay for expensive fertility treatments and started trying tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, I…” Wes trails off, his foot easing from the gas pedal. “Oh wow, is that…”
“Yeah, that’s it.” My eyes widening, I take in the small gingerbread-style house with a large red sign reading “Office Open” above the door. Behind it, a cracked and graying parking lot stretches toward the tree line, where several gloomy cottages crouch amidst the evergreen trees and melting snow. Brown grass pokes through the pavement, adding to the dilapidated vibe, but I can safely say I’ve never been so glad to see a seedy motel.
We’re clearly going to be too busy dealing with the Mountain Motor Lodge crisis to keep talking about my gimpy lady parts, and I’m grateful.
“But the reviews said the rooms were super cute and very clean,” I add as Wes pulls into the lot and parks diagonally, taking up several spots. I frown, glancing around to see only two cars—a tiny red sedan parked behind the office and what looks like an abandoned gray van rotting in the shadows beside one of the larger cottages. “But why is there only one room available? It looks like we’re the only ones here.”
“Maybe everyone else is out getting dinner?” Wes asks, shifting the camper into park but keeping the engine running. “Or maybe they took one look at Mother Meyer’s creepy fairy tale lair and kept driving?”
“It does look like a good place to get lured in by a candy shingle and end up in a witch’s pot,” I agree.
Wes grunts. “But we’re a lot bigger than Hansel and Gretel. I guess we could head into the office and take a look around. If it seems sketchy or the room is awful, we can always leave.”
“That’s what every character who gets murdered in the first ten minutes of the horror movie says right before they walk into the killer’s trap.” I nibble my bottom lip. “But I’m up for it, if you are.” I nod over my shoulder. “And we can bring Freya for backup. If anyone makes a move, you know she’ll go straight for their crotch.”
A wry smile stretches his lips. “I do know that. Firsthand.” He shuts off the engine with a nod. “Okay then. Me, you, and Freya. And if they don’t welcome ferrets, we take that as a sign to keep driving until we find a Walmart parking lot. I’ll take point on bucket duty.”
I snort and shake my head. “No, thank you. If a bucket is necessary, I’ll handle it myself. I’m girly enough to want to maintain a certain air of mystery about my toileting activities.”
He grins. “You’re cute.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not. There’s nothing cute about toilet stuff, I promise you.”
“You’re cute and nothing that comes out of you would change my mind about that.”
“Ew, so gross. What’s wrong with you?” I ask as I sneak through our seats to fetch Freya from her crate. But I’m secretly touched by his words and think he’s pretty cute, too.
His smile widens. “I suspect many things are wrong with me. I may look like a mild-mannered lawyer, but I’m secretly kind of pumped at the thought of staying in this terrifying motel. Looks like a great place to run into Bigfoot after hours.”
I strap Freya into her harness and stand with a shake of my head. “That sounds like Preston talking.”
His green eyes light up. “Speaking of Preston, I hope they have Wi-Fi. Preston wants to do more research on Butch Cassidy’s stash.”
“Same,” I agree, reaching for the door leading out of the main part of the camper. “I know it’s probably crazy, but I really think we have a chance at finding it. I mean, someone has to stumble upon it, sooner or later, right? Why not us?”
“Why not us?” he echoes, his gaze caressing my face for a beat before he slides out of the driver’s side.
I wait for him to circle around to meet Freya and me with a pleasant buzz flowing through my veins. I told him my secret and he’s still looking at me like I’m someone precious and calling me “cute.”
Maybe I was wrong about Wes. Maybe he isn’t set on having children, or at least not biological children.
A part of me wants to ask how he feels about adoption. I mean, I thought I’d given up on the idea of having a family of my own, but…
I shake my head, reigning in my wild thoughts as we set off across the parking lot and keeping my lips zipped. My fertility confession can be explained away by the stress of our interaction with Maddie, but if I ask him about adoption, it’s going to be clear why I’m curious.
