I Confessed To The Wrong Twin

Ch 16

Rhys

Jami walks out with a suitcase in hand.

I stare at it for a second, then at her, and finally back at the suitcase like I'm genuinely trying to understand what the hell I'm looking at.

“What the hell did you pack?”

She stops beside my car, looking completely offended by the question. “Everything I might need.”

I point at the enormous suitcase sitting beside her. “You're going away for three days, Sweetgirl, not starting a new life.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “You don't know what women need.”

“Apparently, an entire wardrobe.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile trying to escape before she turns away. I take the suitcase from her before she can start explaining why every single item inside is necessary and throw it into the trunk.

“Wait,” she says, following me with her eyes. “You're not even going to ask what's inside?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm scared.”

That finally makes her laugh, and I find myself grinning as I walk around to the driver's side. The engine is already running, the heater filling the car with warm air against the freezing morning.

The second I slide into my seat, Jami turns toward me with narrowed eyes.

“So, where are we going?”

“Somewhere.”

“That is not a place.”

“It is today.”

“Reid.”

I pull away from the curb, keeping my face completely straight. “You asked for a surprise.”

“I asked for somewhere quiet. I didn't agree to being kidnapped.”

“Canada.”

Her head snaps toward me so fast I almost laugh.

“Are you serious?”

“No.”

“Then where?”

“Somewhere with roads.”

She stares at me in complete disbelief before sinking back against her seat.

“You're impossible.”

“I've been told.”

For the next twenty minutes, she interrogates me like she's trying to solve a murder case. She wants to know what direction we're heading, whether we're leaving the city, whether we're crossing state lines, and whether I have packed enough food.

Every question gets an equally useless answer.

When she finally demands that I tell her the destination, I glance over at her and shrug. “Nope.”

“If you don't tell me where we're going in the next five minutes, I'm getting out of this car.”

I look at her.

“You won't.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Try me.”

I laugh because she's actually serious, but she's also still sitting comfortably in my passenger seat with the heater warming her feet.

About forty minutes later, I pull into a little roadside diner tucked between a gas station and a row of tall pine trees. Jami looks through the window, then turns toward me with an accusing expression.

“Where are we?”

“Breakfast.”

“You dragged me out of my dorm before eight in the morning and didn't even feed me first?”

“Exactly why we're here.”

She shakes her head, but the moment we step inside and the smell of pancakes, bacon, and fresh coffee hits her, her entire expression changes. Her eyes immediately start wandering across the tiny diner, taking in the booths, the old photographs on the walls, and the handwritten specials board behind the counter.

I watch her for a moment before asking, “You've never done this before, have you?”

She looks at me. “Done what?”

“Just gotten into a car without knowing where you're going.”

Her smile fades slightly as she thinks about it.

“No.”

That answer catches me off guard.

We slide into a booth near the window, and she wraps both hands around her coffee while I steal a piece of bacon from her plate.

“My family always planned everything,” she admits after a moment. “Holidays, dinners, trips, everything. Even if I wanted to go somewhere, I had to explain where I was going, who I was going with, why I wanted to go, and exactly when I'd be back.”

I lean back against the booth, watching her.

“And now?”

She glances toward the window, a tiny smile appearing on her lips. “Now I'm realizing I probably missed a lot.”

“Then we're fixing that.”

She looks back at me, and her smile grows.

“Okay.”

After breakfast, I decide the road trip needs more than just driving until we reach our destination. I spot a ridiculous roadside attraction and pull over before she can ask what I'm doing.

The attraction turns out to be a giant wooden fisherman holding a fish almost twice his size.

Jami stares at it for several seconds.

“Why are we here?”

“History.”

“This isn't history.”

“It's a giant fish. That's practically culture.”

She bursts out laughing, covering her mouth as she looks at me like I've completely lost my mind.

I pull out my phone and take a picture of her beside the stupid statue.

Her laughter immediately disappears.

“Delete that.”

“No.”

“Reid.”

“It's going in my favorites.”

She reaches for my phone, but I hold it above her head, laughing as she tries to grab it. Eventually, she gives up and poses beside the statue with an exaggeratedly annoyed expression.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

We make several more stops before the afternoon disappears. A little winter market catches her attention, so naturally we spend nearly an hour wandering between wooden stalls filled with knitted scarves, handmade jewelry, pastries, candles, and ridiculous winter decorations.

Jami keeps picking things up and putting them back, until she finally holds up a tiny knitted snowman.

“He's adorable.”

I stare at it. “He looks creepy to me.”

“Hey, he's a snowman.”

“Exactly. He’s equally jobless.”

She laughs and nudges my arm, but she still buys the damn snowman.

By the time we're back on the road, she's curled comfortably into the passenger seat, her earlier nervousness completely gone. She looks different when she's relaxed, and I find myself wanting to know more about the girl underneath all those books and carefully controlled smiles.

So I start asking questions.

“What was your favorite childhood memory?”

She thinks for a moment before telling me about the summer she and Chloe spent almost an entire week hiding snacks in an old treehouse and pretending they owned a restaurant.

I laugh. “You? Running a restaurant?”

“I was eight.”

“Still sounds dangerous.”

She nudges my arm again.

Then she asks me the same question, and I give her an easy answer about hockey and Reid, keeping the more complicated parts of my childhood buried where they belong.

She doesn't push.

Instead, she asks, “If you could live anywhere after graduation, where would you go?”

I keep my eyes on the road.

“Somewhere nobody knows me.”

Her expression changes. “Really? Why?”

I shrug. “Sometimes it's easier when people don't already have an opinion about you.”

She goes quiet for a moment before asking, “What do you think love should feel like?”

That one catches me completely off guard.

I glance at her. “That's a pretty serious question for someone who spent half the afternoon defending a snowman.”

She smiles. “Answer it.”

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, thinking about it longer than I expect.

“Like you don't have to pretend.”

She studies me quietly before saying, “That's actually a good answer.”

“Don't sound so surprised.”

“What about you?” I ask. “What should love feel like?”

She turns toward the window, watching the snow-covered trees blur past.

“Safe,” she says softly. “But not boring. I want someone who makes me feel like I can be myself without worrying they'll leave when they see the ugly parts.”

My grip tightens slightly around the steering wheel. For some reason, those words stay with me.

Soon, the city is long gone.

Jami finally sits upright, looking through the windshield at the endless stretch of snow-covered trees surrounding us.

“Reid?”

“Hmm?”

“Where exactly are we?”

I turn onto a narrow private road, the tires crunching over fresh snow. Ahead, a massive wooden gate slowly begins to open, revealing a long driveway disappearing between the trees.

Jami's eyes widen.

“Reid... where are we?”

I glance at her and let a slow grin spread across my face.

“You wanted somewhere nobody could bother you.”

The car rolls forward through the opening.

Behind us, the enormous wooden gates begin to close.