Page 13 of Romero and Juliette

Me: Okay, I promise.

Buttercup: Surprise! I’m here with you.

Me: What?

I glance around outside the van and only see a steady stream of traffic and people.

Me: Is that a secret code for something?

Buttercup: No, silly. I’m here. In the van.

Buttercup: Like a stowaway.

“Fuck.” I open the door and storm across the pavement to the back of the van, where the built-in kennels are.

She’s sitting against one of the crates and gives me a little wave with a smile. “Surprise.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“You promised you wouldn’t get mad.”

“Yep,” I say, the p making a popping noise. “I need more context, Buttercup, because I don’t know what’s going on.”

She kinda of crabwalks to the door, and I help her get out of the van. “I wanted to get out of town for a tiny bit. I knew if I asked, you’d probably say no.”

“I would have,” I grumble.

She shrugs. “See?”

“So you waited until I was too far away to turn around to reveal yourself?”

“Something like that.”

I blow out a breath. “What exactly is your plan?”

“I have a friend I’m going to meet up with for dinner. Then tomorrow, I’ll be another two hands to help out with the dogs.”

I stare at her. Fuck, she’s pretty. Her long blonde hair is pulled up in space buns--I think they’re called--and she’s wearing a black t-shirt with a wrench image on it. Surrounding the tool it says: I’m here because you broke something.

“Are you mad?” she asks.

“No, Buttercup, I’m not mad. Just fucking confused.” I turn away from her. “I’m going inside to get coffee. I’ll be back.”

“Oh, I’m going in with you. I need to use the little girls’ room, and I hear they have the best snacks.” She skips up next to me to match my stride.

Skips!

As if I needed another reminder that she’s way too young for me.

Twenty minutes later, we’re back in the van, loaded down with snacks and matching happy beaver pajama pants. I’m still not sure how that happened, except that apparently she’d never been far enough away from Saddle Creek to have visited the famous travel-stop gas stations that litter our state.

She was so excited, I couldn’t refuse. When she looked at me with those big green eyes, the idea of matching pants seemed like a great idea.

She’s up in the passenger seat now that she no longer has to hide. Her feet are up on the dashboard. I’ve never seen her bare feet before, since she wears work boots at the garage. But there they are… cute and feminine with chipped pink polish on each nail.

She opens a bag of something, and the scent fills the cab immediately identifying her snack.

“Tell me that’s not Funyuns,” I say.