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Cabot was the kind of person who apparently thought that things like “head west after the jughandle” were useful instructions, as if Caleb had any idea what a jughandle was or what he was supposed to do with one, let alone which direction west might be.
“The road’s about to do something weird in a couple of miles.” “Weird? How many things can a road do?”
“Thank you,” he said, managing not to grit his teeth. “Huh?” “For the pie and the coffee. And aspirin. And, um, putting up with me when I’m surly.” “You paid for the pie, the coffee was free in the office, I absolutely refuse to calculate the cost of two aspirin, and I haven’t figured out my hourly rate for putting up with surliness, so we’re even,” Peter said.
When he opened the door and was hit with a blast of morning sun, Caleb cringed. “Ahh, why is it doing that?” he cried, shielding his eyes with his hand. “The sun? Why is it shining?” asked Peter, unfairly amused. “It often does.”
“I can read a map!” Caleb protested uselessly. “There’s just something wrong with that one.” “Oh yeah? What’s wrong with it?” “That it’s attempting to put all this—” he gestured around them “—onto that little bit of paper. It just isn’t natural.”
“Honestly, I think the rest of you are faking it. You look at the map, say ‘yes, yes, go east for thirty yards and then southwest for a mile and the service station will be on the leeward side of the car’ but really you’re just making it up as you go along.”
“The Chicken Basket,” Peter announced. “The sheep bucket,” Caleb declared promptly. “What game is this?”
He cleared his throat. “You’re appallingly easygoing and probably too kind, if your treatment of me is any indication. You exude goodwill. I worry that you’ll be taken in by the first sad story you hear, and that you’ll wind up destitute and disappointed in humanity.” Peter didn’t say anything but Caleb could feel his gaze. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” Peter eventually asked. “I wish I knew,” Caleb sighed. “A compliment, all right? Here, you should take your sunglasses back.”
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A week ago, if someone had told Peter that he’d be charmed by a man attempting to evenly apportion a breeze, he’d have thought they were nuts. Now he just smiled helplessly as he watched Caleb rotate the fan’s base by a fraction of a degree to make it point at the exact midpoint between the beds.
The fact that there are tornadoes in Kansas is literally the only weather trivia I know, and it’s possible that The Wizard of Oz isn’t an accurate source, so don’t ask me.”
“You’re pretty cute when you get embarrassed.” Caleb snatched the pillow back and hit him with it. “Take it back.”
“Do you ever put the top down on this thing?” he asked, so the next thing Peter knew they were back on the highway, the breeze hot and fast in his face, Caleb wearing Peter’s sunglasses and a song about El Paso on the radio. Peter wanted to take the moment and put it in a box and bury it deep inside his pocket where he would never lose it.
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He felt like he spent the past four days in a state of constant, simmering arousal, which would have been bad enough even if it hadn’t been compounded with something in the vicinity of his stomach that was either happiness or food poisoning.
His brain felt like it was filled with wet lint, except for when he thought about Peter, and then he was torn between a demented urge to ask if he was warm enough without a sweater and the need to bend him over the nearest piece of furniture.
