“Probably because he thinks I’m nuts,” I say, which is a much more likely hypothesis.
“They usually do, dear. It’s another sign they’re in love. When a man tells you that you’re insane, it’s really his way of professing his love.”
I smile. I’ve never met this woman before, but I’ve decided she’s an angel, or maybe a messenger of Fate. I stare into her brown eyes, and notice the whites are webbed with thin red spidery veins. They’re beautiful and complicated and I can tell she’s lived her life without ever missing a single detail.
I gulp down the corn bread with a glass of milk and my stomach is relishing the flavor and my mind is reveling in her words. Rain starts to hit the side of the window, but the storm isn’t angry anymore. It’s like a cleansing shower, washing away my heavy thoughts, flushing them from my mind like branches down a stream.
We head back into the living room and Gray’s eyes snap to me when I walk through the door. I feel a rush of nerves ball in my stomach when our eyes meet. My body is still adjusting to the shock of his presence. A tornado warning scrolls along the bottom of the screen and we all turn to read the weather report.
“A cold front’s moving through,” Chris informs us. “And it’s taking its sweet time. It’s supposed to storm all night.” The warning statement runs across the screen like a teleprompter: expect golf ball sized hail, dangerous lightening, and wind gusts up to seventy-miles-an-hour. Seek shelter. Do not go outside.
“How far is it to the nearest town?” I ask.
“About forty miles,” Chris says. He takes a sip of beer. “The towns are all under flash floods. I’d consider trading in your car for a boat.”
I look at Gray and notice his eyes widen.
“He’s just joking around. You kids aren’t going anywhere,” Sue Anne says. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight. Follow me,” she says and Gray stands up. I walk behind Sue Anne and Gray walks a few feet behind me. When we stop in front of a closed door, he almost stumbles into me and I feel a jolt run up my back.
I’ve become acutely aware of space over the last few hours, how my mind and body react to the proximity of Gray. I start to mentally record my observations:
GRAY PROXIMITY SCALE:
Standing in the Same Room = Generalized anxiety, stomach flips, hyper awareness, physical need to repress the smile reflex.
Three Feet Away = Light-headedness, urge to touch magnified, noticeable face flush.
One Foot Away = WARNING—ENTERING PRZ (pheromone release zone). Body detects sex pheromones triggering sexual desire, heart spasms, tingling of nerve endings in lips, tongue and fingertips, noticeable heart palpitations, pelvic muscles contracting.
Six Inches Away = WARNING—ENTERING KZ (kissing zone). Sensory overload, heightened sense of smell, taste, and touch, elevated body temperature, hormone levels increase approximately 1,000%, shallow breath, diminished decision-making ability.
Less Than Six Inches Away = ABORT. ABORT. THERE IS NO GOING BACK.
I silently wonder if a body suit made out of steel could repel any of these symptoms.
When Sue Anne opens the guest bedroom and we walk in, Gray’s mouth drops open.
I look around and feel like we stepped inside a five-year-old girl’s play fort. Everything is pink. The quilt on the bed, the frilly curtains, the lamp shades, even the chair in the corner looks like it’s wearing a pink tutu.
Gray’s eyes are fixed on the full-sized bed, sitting in the middle of the room. I can almost see a red DO NOT ENTER warning sign emblazed over the patchwork quilt.
“I hope this will do,” Sue Anne remarks.
The room’s tiny. There’s hardly any floor space so sleeping next to the bed isn’t an option. Even the bed looks small, or maybe objects appear smaller than normal when viewed through sexual tension.
Gray points over his shoulder.
“Ah, I noticed a couch in the living room. Would it be alright if I crashed in there later?” he asks.
She shakes her head.
“Sorry, but my husband is a terrible snorer. It sounds like a snow plow’s driving through our room, so I kick him out of bed around midnight. He uses the couch.”
Gray nods. “No problem,” he says. He meets my eyes and I shrug.
Sue Anne offers me a quick smile and a wink before she shuts the door. I smile back, but it’s as weak as tissue paper. I feel terrible. Gray was nice enough to give me a ride to Flagstaff. Sharing a bed, with our past, takes our predicament from uncomfortable to painful.
I look around the room and an old fashioned wooden clock on the wall points to ten o’clock. Gray looks nowhere near tired. I’m not sure which is worse for him, being enclosed in a tiny bedroom with me for the night, or dodging tornados. They seem to be equally horrifying.