Chapter 2 — The Road Trip Pact
Lucas
Lucas adjusted the rearview mirror of his old pickup as they rumbled along the winding stretch of highway. The rain had subsided, leaving the asphalt glistening and steaming under the late morning sun. The rhythmic sound of the truck’s tires on the damp road was oddly soothing, though the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers grated on his nerves. Beside him, Maya sat with one boot propped against the dashboard, absently twisting a slim leather bracelet on her wrist. She tapped rapidly on her phone, her fingers moving like she was trying to outpace her thoughts. Her presence filled the cab with restless energy, a sharp contrast to the quiet steadiness Lucas preferred.
“Can you not put your dirty boots on my dash?” Lucas asked, his tone calm but pointed. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, though not enough to make it obvious.
Maya glanced sideways at him, her green eyes glinting with defiance. “Oh, I could. But where’s the fun in that?” She smirked, the corners of her mouth curling like she was ready to escalate the moment into a sparring match.
He exhaled slowly, keeping his voice even. “It’s a work truck, yeah, but it’d be nice to keep it somewhat presentable.”
With an exaggerated huff, Maya dropped her foot back to the floor. “Fine. Buzzkill.” She twisted in her seat to face him fully, her auburn hair catching a stray beam of sunlight that streaked through the window. “You know, for a guy who just blackmailed me into photographing his entire life’s work, you’re awfully particular.”
Lucas arched an eyebrow, still focused on the road. “Blackmail? That’s dramatic.”
“Oh no, you’re right. It was more like mild coercion,” she said, her voice lilting with playful sarcasm. “I mean, what kind of guy barters engine repairs for a full art portfolio overhaul? You’re a walking contradiction, Lucas Reed.”
“And you’re a handful.”
“Thanks,” Maya said, her grin widening as though she’d been handed a trophy.
Lucas shook his head, but the faint twitch of a smile betrayed him. The highway stretched ahead in long, sweeping curves, flanked by rolling green hills dappled with wildflowers. This was his kind of place—open, steady, uncomplicated. He doubted Maya shared the sentiment. She seemed like the type who thrived on chaos.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence, “where exactly are we heading?”
“The next town has the parts I need for your car.”
“And then we part ways?”
Lucas glanced at her briefly, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he furrowed his brow. “That was the deal, wasn’t it?”
“Sure,” she replied, her tone carrying an edge of uncertainty. Before he could decipher it, she switched topics. “So, what’s the story with the sketches?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You’re a mechanic. But then, surprise! You’ve got this whole secret life with, what, charcoal landscapes? Portraits? Interpretive blobs?”
His lips quirked into a reluctant half-smile. “No blobs. Landscapes, mostly. Some portraits.”
“For fun?”
“For sanity,” he admitted, his voice quieter this time.
Maya leaned back in her seat, studying him with her unsettlingly sharp gaze. Lucas stiffened, gripping the steering wheel tighter as if it could shield him from the way her eyes seemed to peel back parts of him he wasn’t ready to share.
“Well,” she said after a moment, breaking the tension with a wave of her phone, “lucky for you, you’ve got the internet’s most beloved travel photographer on your team now. I’m sure my audience will appreciate your tortured artist vibe.”
Lucas tensed, then forced himself to relax. “I didn’t ask for an audience. Just photos.”
“Why not both?”
“Because ‘tortured artist’ and ‘covered-in-grease mechanic’ aren’t exactly Instagram gold.”
Her laugh filled the cab, light and infectious, and Lucas felt the corner of his mouth lift again despite himself.
*
They pulled into the gravel lot of the Sunset Ridge Diner just past noon. Lucas’s stomach growled at the smell of sizzling bacon wafting through the open door, a sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Maya was already halfway inside, her camera slung over one shoulder as she surveyed the scene like it was her personal photo studio.
“This place is adorable,” she announced, crouching down to capture the sunlight streaming through the lace curtains onto the tiled floor.
Lucas followed, nodding politely as the waitress behind the counter poured coffee into Styrofoam cups. The diner was all warmth and nostalgia—worn vinyl booths, a jukebox humming an old Johnny Cash tune, and the faint smell of fresh pie. It reminded Lucas of home: simple, steady, familiar.
Maya flitted from one corner to another, snapping photos of everything from the pies in the display case to an older man sipping coffee at the counter. The waitress gave her a bemused look, and Lucas slid into a booth near the window, shaking his head.
“She does this everywhere,” he said, addressing the waitress. “Don’t mind her.”
Maya straightened, flashing a dazzling smile. “Ignore him. He’s just grumpy because he’s starving.”
The waitress chuckled and poured coffee for Lucas before sliding a menu across the table. “Y’all passing through?”
“Something like that,” Lucas replied, keeping his answer deliberately vague.
Maya dropped into the seat across from him, her camera still in hand. “Actually, we’re on a grand, soul-searching road trip,” she said brightly.
Lucas shot her a look over the rim of his coffee cup. “We are not.”
“Oh, come on. Two strangers, thrown together by chance, driving through picturesque small towns? It’s practically a Hallmark movie.”
The waitress smiled politely and excused herself. Lucas focused on his coffee, taking a slow sip before setting the cup down. “You have a very… creative way of looking at things.”
“Thanks,” Maya said, grinning like he’d handed her an award.
They ordered their meals—eggs and sausage for Lucas, a BLT for Maya—and settled into a comfortable silence. Lucas found himself watching as she scrolled through the photos she’d taken. Her expression shifted between concentration and satisfaction, her thumb brushing absently over the compass charm on her bracelet. The gesture felt grounding, almost vulnerable, as though she didn’t realize she was doing it.
“Look at this,” she suddenly said, holding up her camera.
He leaned across the table, squinting at the screen. The photo was of the older man at the counter, his hands wrapped around a coffee cup. The sunlight framed his face with sharp contrasts, every line and wrinkle etched with quiet dignity. Lucas felt a tug of something he couldn’t quite name.
“That’s really good,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent.
“Really good?” Maya repeated, feigning offense. “You wound me, Lucas.”
“I mean it,” he said, leaning back. “You’ve got an eye for detail.”
“And you’ve got an eye for understatement.”
Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Lucas ate in silence, while Maya snapped a quick photo of her sandwich before taking a bite.
“You always do that?” he asked, nodding toward her camera.
“Do what?”
“Photograph your food.”
“Not everything. Just the good stuff. People love food photos.”
He shook his head, bemused. “You’re a mystery, Maya Winters.”
She smirked. “And you’re a puzzle, Lucas Reed.”
The silence that followed felt softer, easier, as though the weight of their initial awkwardness had lifted. Lucas found himself watching her as she ate, the way her gaze flicked to the window every few minutes like she couldn’t sit still for long. It was as if she was always searching for something, though he wasn’t sure she even knew what.
And, for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to see the world through her lens.
*
As they stepped outside, Maya lingered near the door, snapping one last photo of the golden hills rolling into the distance. Lucas leaned against the hood of the truck, arms crossed, watching her work. Her energy—restless, relentless, unyielding—was exhausting and magnetic all at once.
“You coming?” he called after a moment.
“Patience, Reed,” she said without looking up.
He rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at his lips. When she finally joined him, he opened the truck door without thinking.
Maya paused, her green eyes flicking to his face. “Chivalry isn’t dead, I see.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, shutting the door behind her.
As they pulled back onto the highway, the golden hills stretched out before them, the open road beckoning with whatever came next.
