Detour Ahead

“Yeah, I’m a blogger. I have a Web site where I post writings about what’s going on in my life.”

“Things like this trip?”

“That’s right. I figured I could make notes as ideas strike me during the day, then upload them at the hotel every evening.”

“And people read this? Strangers?”

“Yeah, I’m made a lot of cool friends that way. Fans.”

He shook his head. “You don’t think it’s a little odd to have people you don’t even know reading about your life?”

She shifted in her seat. “I’m not an idiot. I don’t put personal information on there. It just gives me a chance to work on my writing and…I don’t know. Make a connection. There are hundreds of bloggers. Thousands. It’s another kind of Internet community.”

He continued to look skeptical. “Does this diary of yours have a name?”

“It’s called Travels with Marlee. I write about places I go. Things I see.”

“Do you see that many interesting things?”

She nodded. “They’re out there, if you keep your eyes open. Every trip is a journey of discovery. That’s what the blog is about, really—sharing my discoveries with readers.”

“You don’t think sometimes you’re simply moving from point A to point B in the most efficient manner?”

“This may come as a shock to you, but there are people who think efficiency is overrated.”

He glanced at her. “You, for instance?”

“Haven’t you heard that getting there is half the fun?”

He shrugged. “And sometimes getting there is merely something you endure to reach your destination.”

She leaned toward him. “You wouldn’t be talking about this particular trip, would you?”

“Now why would you think that?” The corners of his mouth twitched and she relaxed. He was teasing her. She couldn’t help but like a man with a sense of humor, even if he kept it under wraps most of the time.

And she did like Craig, in spite of his scarily organized and exacting ways. She supposed there were advantages to having every journey—and the rest of your life—all laid out neatly. There were probably times when having an idea of what you’d be doing next week or next year was useful.

But what if while making all those plans you missed something even better? It seemed an awfully big risk to her.

“I take it you plan to write about this trip?”

His question interrupted her musings. “Well, yeah. That’s what I do.”

“Do me a favor and leave me out of it. I don’t want strangers reading about me.”

“Don’t worry. If I mention you at all, I’ll give you an assumed name.”

“What kind of name?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought of anything yet.” She leaned back and dug around in the tote that rested on the floor behind his seat and pulled out two apples. “Want one?”

“Thanks.” He accepted the fruit, bit into it, and chewed, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

She laughed. “A lot of people say that. This time, I’m going to take it as a compliment.”

“Do you look on the bright side of everything?”

“You can either cry or laugh. I prefer to laugh.” She leaned back in the seat and took a bite out of her apple. Not that her life was one laugh after the other, but she did try to limit the tears. Anyone who micro-managed things as much as Craig seemed to could use a few more laughs in his life. Maybe she could oblige, and enjoy herself in the process.

But not too much. She shifted in her seat as her inner seductress sought once more to make an appearance. What was with her today? She’d have to check the ingredients on the power bar she’d had for breakfast. Maybe it contained some secret aphrodisiac.

She glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. He was intent on traffic, apparently oblivious to the effect he was having on her and her libido. That figured. She was lusting after Handsome here and he was figuring out the best route through Virginia. That was the story of her life, wasn’t it? They might be in the same car, but once again, she was headed in the wrong direction.

HERE I am on the road again, this time headed to California. My chauffeur is a man who wishes to remain anonymous, so I’ll be referring to him as “the Chef.” This trip is definitely shaping up unlike any other I’ve taken. Not to say the Chef is uptight or anything, but the man has a schedule planned down to the minute. When we stop for gas, he figures his mileage and records it in a little notebook he keeps in his glove compartment, along with the date and the price of the gas. When I suggested we make a little detour through Winchester, Virginia, to see the World’s Largest Apple (Red Delicious, natch!) he looked at me like I was a nut. I can see I’m going to have to educate him on the Travels with Marlee philosophy—never pass up a chance for adventure!

Hasn’t he heard the point of a vacation is to relax? Still, he’s a nice guy when he loosens up, and I appreciate him giving me a lift to Susan’s wedding. And who knows? I’ve got the next few days to convince him to slow down and make room in his life for adventure. After all, this wouldn’t be Travels with Marlee without a few detours along the way, would it?

MARLEE fell asleep shortly after they crossed into Virginia, her legs drawn up beside her, her head resting against the window. Craig glanced at her every few minutes, enjoying the view. She wasn’t what you’d call a stunning woman, but she had an intriguing, gamin quality—short brown hair and huge dark eyes set against pale skin. And that damned wide-eyed optimism of hers was coupled with an oversize self-confidence.

When she’d called him on the carpet this morning over his jerky behavior, he’d been struck dumb with awe. He couldn’t help but admire anyone who seemed so sure of herself.

He still wasn’t sure about spending the week traveling with her, though. The whole reason he was driving to California instead of flying was to have the time alone. He’d purposely set aside two weeks for the trip out and back and planned his route to give him plenty of time to get to the wedding and relax beforehand. He had some important decisions to make about his future and this would be a good time to sort things out in his head. The last thing he needed was a woman along. She’d throw off his schedule completely and he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace.

Quit your whining, Brinkman. You said you’d do this, so time to gut it up and do it. He had to admit he’d enjoyed Marlee’s company so far. He smiled, remembering all her talk about the importance of doing work you loved. That was certainly a different way to look at things. He wondered what his dad would say if Craig tried out that argument. Dad had wanted him to be a banker or an architect. To his way of thinking, cooking was something women did. He was still waiting for Craig to “come to his senses” and get a real job.

If only he could make Dad see that being a chef was a real job, and he had the potential to be a big success at it. It was all part of his five-year plan: establish a customer base and get on-the-job training working for someone else, then open his own place inside the Loop. He’d already completed the first part of his plan. After three years at the Senate Dining Room, he felt ready to strike out on his own. But it was still risky. He had to find the right location, design the perfect menu and make sure he had enough financial backing. He wanted to be certain of every detail before he made his move.

Marlee sighed and shifted in her seat, smiling to herself. What was she so happy about? And why did was he suddenly happier, just being in the same car with her? Obviously he’d been neglecting his social life too much if simply being with a woman he hardly knew could make him this lightheaded.

Not that he didn’t date when he had the chance, but he wasn’t in any rush to get involved in a long-term relationship. He certainly wasn’t rushing to the altar like Bryan.

He still couldn’t believe his best friend—his last single buddy—was tying the knot. What was the rush to get married all of a sudden? Bryan was the same age he was, twenty-eight. They had plenty of time.

The way Craig figured it, he’d get himself established in his career before he took on the added responsibility of marriage and raising a family. Say, around age thirty-five sounded right. Then he’d find a woman who was successful in her own right, someone capable and dependable like himself.

Eyes still closed, as if struggling to hold on to sleep a little longer, Marlee unfolded her legs and stretched her arms overhead. Her slow, sensuous movements made him think of lazy mornings spent in bed and languid lovemaking in tangled sheets, things he seldom indulged in. She arched her back against the seat and her breasts jutted against the thin fabric of her dress, and he felt an immediate physical response.

He forced his eyes away. He wasn’t going to get involved with this chick. She was sweet, but she definitely wasn’t his type—and the last thing he needed in his life right now was any more complications. He had too much else to think about. He’d get his career on the right track, and then he could work on the relationship side of things.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice soft with sleep.

“Somewhere outside of Roanoke, Virginia. I’m hoping to make Kingsport, Tennessee by dark, but the traffic around Fairfax put us behind.” Too far behind for his liking. They’d have to make up some time to get back on schedule.

“What time is it?” She leaned toward the dashboard clock, squinting in the glare.

“Lunch time. I’ve been looking for a place to stop, but there isn’t any.” And they weren’t anywhere near his planned stop. The last town they’d passed had been little more than a post office and a service station. Since then, the view had been mostly trees and fields.

“That’s okay. We can have a picnic.” She reached back into her bag and began taking out items and piling them in her lap. “I’ve got some cheese. Crackers. Summer sausage. Grapes. A chocolate bar.”