Page 26 of Hauling Ashe

Adam and I hadn’t gone to typical places when we dated although we’d had our share of movies and dinners. Being from a small town surrounded by natural beauty, many of our dates included outdoor activities like snowmobile riding and downhill skiing in the winter and boating or hiking in the summer.

Of course, summer was our busiest season and with marriage, children, and a business, dates fell further and further down the list of things to do. Taking two weeks off during the summer had been no small feat this year, but Pam had insisted I needed time away.

“You deserve this time. Explore. Seek. Renew.” She sounded like a New Age pamphlet for spiritual revival, but Pam also understood I needed to get away and no time would be the perfect time. I couldn’t keep waiting for the right moment. “Just go.”

My best friend also knew I’d always wanted to take this great American road trip, and what a trip today’s adventure was turning out to be. We took the cave tour but skipped all the extra stuff. However, I didn’t want to pass up the gift shop. Once again, I couldn’t decide on a souvenir and eventually walked out without making a purchase.

Traveling onward, we reach the giant red rocking chair within minutes of leaving the caverns. Pulling up before the Fanning Route 66 Outpost, I recount the history of this chair as we stand before it like I’m some expert tour guide.

“It originally was listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the tallest rocking chair. However, another one was built someplace else and took the title. For the longest time, this chair held the record as the second largest.” I softly chuckle. “But I don’t know why you’d brag about being in second place.”

“That’s cynical of you,” Tucker says, and his comment startles me.

I’m not being cynical; I’m being honest. I’d been put in second place to Adam’s interests. Business. Women. Second place was not worth bragging about.

“This chair needed to rock in order to stay on the record books but the owner or welder or someone, I forget who, was afraid the thing might tip over and crush visitors.” I point to the braces that bind the chair in place. “Now, it’s stationary and it’s been painted red, giving this old icon a new boast as the red rocking chair on the route.” I sound like a brochure.

Thinking of the new life breathed into this popular roadside attraction, a concept hits me. Some things are forgotten along the way. Other things are restored. This trip was my restoration tour.

“Restoration tour?” Tucker scoffs.

I hadn’t realized I’d said that part out loud and I squint up at the rocker. “I just think sometimes you need a reboot, a new purpose.”

Tucker glances up at the red structure. “And you got all that out of a giant rocking chair?”

“I got all that from what I want next in my life.” A reset. I don’t need to turn back the clock. My children are the number one reason I wouldn’t go backward. The idea of erasing them isn’t something I’d ever consider. But it’s my time, and I need to start the timer over.

Tucker turns his head, staring at me for a moment like I’ve grown a second one, and once again, I decide he can’t possibly understand. He’s standing there all rock star handsome without a hair out of place and those silvery eyes, and I can’t imagine he knows anything about reinventing himself. Starting over again. Rebuilding his life.

“Maybe you should let me drive a bit?” He holds out his hand for the keys, but I shake my head. “Come on, Mae. I promise not to run us off the road.”

“You’ll probably just keep us only on the road,” I snark, letting go of my deep thoughts about change.

I’m holding the key fob in my hand, not having bothered with my bag as we only stopped for a quick photo. Tucker wiggles his fingers and I reach forward as if I’m going to give him the key and then retract. Tucker is fast, though, and he snatches my wrist. We wrestle a second like my boys do before I lift my arm and drop the keys down my shirt. The drop was all luck, and my breasts catch the fob on the edge of my bra where the suddenly achy globes are pressed together. Tucker freezes, glaring at my shirt which looks like I’ve grown a third boob because of the small bulge.

“You did not just do that,” he says, tone flat. Shock fills his face before the corner of his mouth curves in that way it does, drawing one side higher than the other. “If you think I’m afraid to go fishing in there, you’re sadly mistaken, sunshine.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t even tease him, dare him. Words are caught in my throat as his eyes hold mine before they lower for the awkward spot where a key fob is stuck in my bra.

If I thought Tucker would just dip his hand through the wide expanse of my collar and tug out the keys, I am mistaken. Instead, he drops the wrist he’s been holding and steps even closer to me. One hand lands on my hip, while the other goes for the hem of my loose shirt. Long fingers and a warm palm connect with the skin at my waist, and I suck in air. I’m not smooth and flat on my belly, and suddenly, I want this rocking chair to fall over and crush me as the builder once feared. Tucker cannot touch me where I’m lumpy and worn from the road trip of having children.

However, he ignores my sharp intake of breath and skims his hand higher underneath my shirt. My breathing accelerates, forcing my chest to rise and fall quicker. Any second, I’m going to be embarrassingly exposed to anyone close by and yet, I don’t care. I want him to rip this shirt from me and cover each breast in turn with those large hands of his. I want him kneading each heavy swell and pinching my nipples…hard.

He continues to travel straight up the middle of my body and we both watch as his hand disappears under the loose material. Only his hand separates us from being chest to chest. His fingers hook over the center of my bra, and he gently tugs at the material, causing me to lean forward, almost knocking into him. With a kick of his fingers, the fob flicks upward and pops out of the wide collar, nearly clocking me in the chin. Tucker catches the key with the hand that had been on my hip, but that first hand…his fingers still hold my bra. One long finger skims upward along the edge of silky fabric, tracing back and forth, then left to right over the hint of cleavage exposed above the cups.

Tucker leans forward, bringing the side of his face against mine and his mouth near my ear.

“Mae.” His voice is strained. “Don’t tease me.”

With that he releases his hold on my bra, drags his hand down my middle to my waist and steps back. He holds the fob up like it’s a victory trophy and then tucks the key into his pocket. Stepping to the side, he waves out a hand for me to lead us to the car and a few seconds pass before my shaky knees can bend to walk me forward.

+ + +

We remain quiet after the key-fob-bra-incident and Tucker drives us along the iconic road until we reach Devil’s Elbow Bridge, another bridge with a sharp turn in the middle but one that allows cars along the classic route. After crossing it, we weave along until we come to Munger Moss Motel, a mom-and-pop motel still open and operating to serve weary travelers. Being midday, we aren’t ready to stop for the night, but I ask Tucker to pull into the parking lot anyway. A few classic cars sit in the lot, and to my surprise, Tucker is eager to walk around them.

“Now this is the kind of ride we should have for a road trip.” His smile is wide as he inspects a car I only recognize as an Oldsmobile because it bears the name. The vehicle is long and wide, mean and classy in cheery red with black interior. Tucker’s admiration brightens his face and for the first time he seems on board with our travels. “This is a car for cruising in.”

Unfortunately for me, all I can think about is that extra spacious backseat and what I want this man to do to me against the long leather bench. My heart still races from his fingers on my skin. A phantom sensation of his touch lingers against the swell of my cleavage, and my nipples remain hard. Thankfully, my blouse is loose enough not to give away the peaks protruding against the silk of my bra, but my breasts ache.