Page 27 of The Last Road Trip

“That’s because I was surprising you.”

I get in. He closes the door and comes around to the driver’s side. It’s when he settles in behind the wheel that I notice how his hair is combed down, and he’s wearing a baby blue button-down with black slacks.

“You’re dressed nice,” I say.

“Mhm.” He waggles his brows at me.

“Where are we going?”

“Now now, don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

That’s all he gives me. “Okay,” I say.

“But I did grab a few dress options for you in the back, along with your favorite pearls.”

I peek at the back. Sure enough, hanging on the dry cleaning hooks are a few dress options. My great-great-great grandma’s ring—the same one I rescued from the safe in my and Buck’s closet—is looped through a necklace so I can wear it against my throat. I had given it to him a few weeks ago because I was too terrified of losing it in my temporary living situation.

“Kwemby,” I whisper. “That was so thoughtful of you.” Not only have I never been surprised with a romantic date before, but I also most certainly have never been so thoroughly thought of.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Check the glove compartment.”

I do. I slowly open it, not sure what I’ll find. Inside is my makeup bag, including all my lipstick and blush. I stopped wearing foundation twenty years ago.

Tears well in my eyes at the thoughtfulness. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

He glances at me with a smile, before returning his attention to the road. “I love you so much.”

Since I can’t get ready in the car, we spend the rest of the time talking.

“How was your shift?” he asks.

I tell him about the German shepherd and the litter of kittens someone dropped off this morning. There’s a cat sanctuary across town but they’re full and focus on cats with extra needs. These kittens will get adopted right away. We can all already tell.

The city shifts around us as he drives. We talk the entire time. He reaches across the middle and holds my hand.

He takes a turn I don’t recognize, down a narrow road. A sign reads PRIVATE MARINA. The road ends in a small gravel lot. Two other cars are parked at the far end.

“We’re here,” he says. As I step out, I hear waves crashing against planks.

Once we’re out of the car, he grabs my makeup bag, necklace with my ancestral ring, and all the dress options and shows me a private outdoor bathroom. While it’s not ideal, we’re also on the edge of the city and what else was he supposed to do? Bring me a gas station bathroom? I pick my favorite dress, the curve-hugging black one that falls to my knees and has capped sleeves, stepping into it with an awareness of a body that has carried twins and decades of tension. In the dim reflection of the tiny bathroom mirror, I have to tilt my chin up to trace my lipstick cleanly without my reading glasses. He returns everything to the car and then escorts me toward the water.

The marina is small with one dock, and about half a dozen boats lining the sides. At the end of the dock, a mid-sized charter boat sits in the spot. String lights run the length of the grab rails. I also spot candlelight in glass-enclosed holders on a table in the middle of the boat. The flames bend in the breeze. A man in a pressed white captain’s jacket stands at the point where the dock meets the plank. Beside him, a waiter in a dark vest holds a tray with two champagne flutes. Both men are watching us.

“For us?” I ask because there’s no one else here.

“Yes, my darling.” He grabs my hand and interlaces our fingers. “Let’s go.”

We continue down the dock toward the boat, the wood rough under my shoes, the smell of the water rising around us. Once we reach the gap where the dock meets water, I take Kwemby’s arm and step aboard.

The captain shakes hands with Kwemby, then introduces himself to me and says we will be on the water for about two hours. The waiter lifts the champagne from his tray and sets both flutes on the table, then unfolds the wool blankets and drapes them over the chairs. The boat’s engine starts as the captain backs us out.

I take one of the flutes and settle into my chair, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. The wool is thick, slightly rough, but immediately warm. Kwemby slides the chair from across the table and sets it right beside me. Then he sits with his own blanket across his knees.

“Thank you for grabbing me something to wear. I’d feel underdressed otherwise.”

In response, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tugs me close to his chest. It’s a little awkward, given we’re sitting down, but I’m tall enough to lean over comfortably.

We motor from the marina. The shoreline pulls back into a glittering line, leaving the parking lot and the illuminated skyscrapers behind. The farther we get, the more we are drenched in darkness, save for the flickering candlelight and the fairy lights along the railings.