Fic: Backseat Birthday
Title: Backseat Birthday
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (bookverse)
Rating: oh, who cares?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Notes: Unbeta'd and late. Story of my life. Also, too long at almost 1,300 words. Written for the birthday challenge at nick_n_nora.
“So? What did they say?”
Timmy tucked his phone into the pocket of his cashmere topcoat. “Two hours. If we’re lucky.”
“Two hours? We’re not that far from Albany. Why the hell would it take two hours?”
Timmy peered through the windshield. Thick flakes of snow pelted the glass, piling up on the windshield wipers. “He said something about too many idiots on the road on a night like this.”
It was November. Albany could produce some spectacular winter storms, but they usually had the grace not to appear before December. This was November eleventh, Timmy’s birthday, too early for a blizzard as far as I was concerned.
We were stuck on Interstate 787 on our way to Saratoga Springs. A client had told me about a bed-and-breakfast there that sounded like a good place to celebrate Timmy’s fifty-fifth. I’d made reservations, bought a couple of bottles of champagne, ignored an ominous weather report, and ushered Timmy into my car. I’d also ignored a blinking transmission light, but I didn’t tell Timmy about that.
“So, what do we do now?” Timmy tucked in his lapels and huddled deeper into his coat. “If we get out of the car we’ll freeze to death or get lost in the snow. If we stay in the car, we won’t get lost but we’ll freeze to death.”
I wouldn’t say his voice was dripping with disappointment, but it came close. He’d wanted to spend a quiet weekend at home, maybe have a few friends over for cake, but he’d agreed to my plans. I thought about our new furnace and picture of the fire and wished I’d listened to him.
“We’ll just have to hunker down and wait it out.” It was almost dark. Very soon the car would resemble a giant lump of snow, and there was a good chance the tow truck would drive right past it. All of a sudden, two hours seemed optimistic. Timmy was right; there was a danger of us freezing to death or at least contracting a good case of hypothermia.
“We could play twenty questions.”
“Good idea, but first things first. Get in the back.”
Timmy glanced at the back seat. “There’s hardly room for one person back there.”
“Exactly. If we both get back there we can huddle together and stay warm. I might even make out with you.” I nudged his arm. “Come on.”
It was like helping a giant spider climb over an Erector set. Timmy’s left foot got stuck in a hole under the dash, and one long leg got tangled in the console. By the time he was situated we were laughing so hard we’d fogged up the windows.
“Your turn.” He tugged at my arm until I landed face-down on his lap.
“That’s more like it.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, right on the little bald spot I hoped would never be as big as his. “Now what?”
I struggled into a sitting position. My knees were jammed into the front seat and so were Timmy’s. After a little more maneuvering, we managed to move the seats as far forward as they would go. We settled back, warmer now, but I knew that wouldn’t last.
“There should be an old blanket right under your feet,” I told him. “We’ll cover up with that.”
“It’s been on the floor for years. It’s probably filthy.” Timmy yanked on the blanket, scattering a few McDonald’s wrappers. “I’ll have to have my coat cleaned.”
“My treat.” I spread the musty-smelling blanket across our laps. “See? We’re warmer already.”
“And smellier.” He slid closer to me and tucked the blanket under our chins. “You think this will work?”
I put my hand on his thigh. “As long as we work up some friction we’ll stay warm.”
He looked down his nose at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.” I reached into the bag tucked halfway under the front seat and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Here’s a little something to convince you.”
His gaze widened. “You can’t open that in here. You’ll get it all over the place.”
“Nonsense.” I whipped the blanket away from lap, tucked the bottle between my knees and peeled the foil and wire away from the top. Getting a good grip on the neck, I closed my eyes and pulled the cork. I heard Timmy’s sharp breath, but I didn’t feel my lap getting wet so I opened my eyes. Vapor rose from the bottle’s neck.
“Told you.” I offered him the bottle. “To us.”
Timmy smiled, took the bottle and tipped it back. He swallowed a couple of times then handed the bottle back to me. We passed it back and forth, snuggling up under the blanket, not talking much but not needing words, anyway.
Timmy took the last swallow and tipped the bottle upside down. He belched, excused himself and squinted inside the bottle. “It’s all gone.”
“Not to worry.” I dragged out the other bottle. “We’ve still got this one.”
Timmy leaned over and gave me a champagne kiss. “You think of everything.”
“If I thought of everything we wouldn’t be here.” I kissed him back, tasting the sweetness on his tongue. “We’d be home, sitting in front of the picture of the fire, all nice and toasty.”
Timmy started unbuttoning my coat. “I’d rather be right here, all nice and cold and bubbly.”
I sighed as he slid his hand inside my lapels. “Are you drunk?”
“A little bit.” He leaned over and kissed my neck. “Are you drunk?”
“Sort of.” I turned my head and kissed him back. I liked making out in a car with Timmy; he made me feel like I was back in high school. We kissed and groped each other, gasping as cold hands touched warm skin. I was about to unzip his jeans when I saw flashing yellow lights in the rearview mirror.
“Busted.” I gave Timmy a final kiss. “We’ll have to save it for later.”
“Story of my life,” Timmy said.
We adjusted our clothes and hiked up the blanket just in time to hear a knock on the window. I opened the door to a rush of snow. A flashlight illuminated the inside of the car.
“Everybody okay?” Only the tow-truck driver’s eyes could be seen between his wool hat and thick scarf. He pointed his flashlight at the empty champagne bottle. “You guys just get married or what?”
“Not exactly,” I said, shivering as the frigid air stole from the car what little warmth Timmy and I had managed to generate. “Can you get us out here?”
“Sure as shit. You guys get in my truck and I’ll hook ‘er up. Where you wanna go?”
Timmy and I shared a glance. There was only one place we wanted to be.
“Crow Street, Albany,” I said.
The guy shook his muffled head. “It’ll cost ya.”
“It’s my birthday and that’s where I want to go,” Timmy said.
“Suit yourself.”
Timmy and I clambered into the tow truck, thankful for the hot hair blasting from the heaters. By the time the driver climbed in beside us we were sweating.
It was a hair-raising trip. The driver, who told us his name was Sweeney, barreled down the road, my Honda swinging around behind us. When I mentioned his excessive speed he told me had never had an accident and didn’t intend to start now.
We were back home about an hour later and a hundred bucks poorer. We offered Sweeney a bed for the night, but he declined, saying he was on call until daybreak. He motored off down the street, his lights flashing, his tow chain clanging. I rescued the second bottle of champagne and followed Timmy into the house.
We took the bottle to bed, using it and an electric blanket to unthaw our fingers and toes. One thing led to another, and soon the bottle was empty and the electric blanket was on the floor.
I kissed Timmy’s sweaty chest. “Happy birthday.”
Timmy smiled, already half asleep. “I haven’t made a birthday wish.”
“Go ahead.”
“I wish-”
I kissed him again, unable to help myself. “If you tell it won’t come true.”
“Yes, it will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because a year from now, you’ll still be ignoring your transmission light.”
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (bookverse)
Rating: oh, who cares?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Notes: Unbeta'd and late. Story of my life. Also, too long at almost 1,300 words. Written for the birthday challenge at nick_n_nora.
“So? What did they say?”
Timmy tucked his phone into the pocket of his cashmere topcoat. “Two hours. If we’re lucky.”
“Two hours? We’re not that far from Albany. Why the hell would it take two hours?”
Timmy peered through the windshield. Thick flakes of snow pelted the glass, piling up on the windshield wipers. “He said something about too many idiots on the road on a night like this.”
It was November. Albany could produce some spectacular winter storms, but they usually had the grace not to appear before December. This was November eleventh, Timmy’s birthday, too early for a blizzard as far as I was concerned.
We were stuck on Interstate 787 on our way to Saratoga Springs. A client had told me about a bed-and-breakfast there that sounded like a good place to celebrate Timmy’s fifty-fifth. I’d made reservations, bought a couple of bottles of champagne, ignored an ominous weather report, and ushered Timmy into my car. I’d also ignored a blinking transmission light, but I didn’t tell Timmy about that.
“So, what do we do now?” Timmy tucked in his lapels and huddled deeper into his coat. “If we get out of the car we’ll freeze to death or get lost in the snow. If we stay in the car, we won’t get lost but we’ll freeze to death.”
I wouldn’t say his voice was dripping with disappointment, but it came close. He’d wanted to spend a quiet weekend at home, maybe have a few friends over for cake, but he’d agreed to my plans. I thought about our new furnace and picture of the fire and wished I’d listened to him.
“We’ll just have to hunker down and wait it out.” It was almost dark. Very soon the car would resemble a giant lump of snow, and there was a good chance the tow truck would drive right past it. All of a sudden, two hours seemed optimistic. Timmy was right; there was a danger of us freezing to death or at least contracting a good case of hypothermia.
“We could play twenty questions.”
“Good idea, but first things first. Get in the back.”
Timmy glanced at the back seat. “There’s hardly room for one person back there.”
“Exactly. If we both get back there we can huddle together and stay warm. I might even make out with you.” I nudged his arm. “Come on.”
It was like helping a giant spider climb over an Erector set. Timmy’s left foot got stuck in a hole under the dash, and one long leg got tangled in the console. By the time he was situated we were laughing so hard we’d fogged up the windows.
“Your turn.” He tugged at my arm until I landed face-down on his lap.
“That’s more like it.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, right on the little bald spot I hoped would never be as big as his. “Now what?”
I struggled into a sitting position. My knees were jammed into the front seat and so were Timmy’s. After a little more maneuvering, we managed to move the seats as far forward as they would go. We settled back, warmer now, but I knew that wouldn’t last.
“There should be an old blanket right under your feet,” I told him. “We’ll cover up with that.”
“It’s been on the floor for years. It’s probably filthy.” Timmy yanked on the blanket, scattering a few McDonald’s wrappers. “I’ll have to have my coat cleaned.”
“My treat.” I spread the musty-smelling blanket across our laps. “See? We’re warmer already.”
“And smellier.” He slid closer to me and tucked the blanket under our chins. “You think this will work?”
I put my hand on his thigh. “As long as we work up some friction we’ll stay warm.”
He looked down his nose at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.” I reached into the bag tucked halfway under the front seat and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Here’s a little something to convince you.”
His gaze widened. “You can’t open that in here. You’ll get it all over the place.”
“Nonsense.” I whipped the blanket away from lap, tucked the bottle between my knees and peeled the foil and wire away from the top. Getting a good grip on the neck, I closed my eyes and pulled the cork. I heard Timmy’s sharp breath, but I didn’t feel my lap getting wet so I opened my eyes. Vapor rose from the bottle’s neck.
“Told you.” I offered him the bottle. “To us.”
Timmy smiled, took the bottle and tipped it back. He swallowed a couple of times then handed the bottle back to me. We passed it back and forth, snuggling up under the blanket, not talking much but not needing words, anyway.
Timmy took the last swallow and tipped the bottle upside down. He belched, excused himself and squinted inside the bottle. “It’s all gone.”
“Not to worry.” I dragged out the other bottle. “We’ve still got this one.”
Timmy leaned over and gave me a champagne kiss. “You think of everything.”
“If I thought of everything we wouldn’t be here.” I kissed him back, tasting the sweetness on his tongue. “We’d be home, sitting in front of the picture of the fire, all nice and toasty.”
Timmy started unbuttoning my coat. “I’d rather be right here, all nice and cold and bubbly.”
I sighed as he slid his hand inside my lapels. “Are you drunk?”
“A little bit.” He leaned over and kissed my neck. “Are you drunk?”
“Sort of.” I turned my head and kissed him back. I liked making out in a car with Timmy; he made me feel like I was back in high school. We kissed and groped each other, gasping as cold hands touched warm skin. I was about to unzip his jeans when I saw flashing yellow lights in the rearview mirror.
“Busted.” I gave Timmy a final kiss. “We’ll have to save it for later.”
“Story of my life,” Timmy said.
We adjusted our clothes and hiked up the blanket just in time to hear a knock on the window. I opened the door to a rush of snow. A flashlight illuminated the inside of the car.
“Everybody okay?” Only the tow-truck driver’s eyes could be seen between his wool hat and thick scarf. He pointed his flashlight at the empty champagne bottle. “You guys just get married or what?”
“Not exactly,” I said, shivering as the frigid air stole from the car what little warmth Timmy and I had managed to generate. “Can you get us out here?”
“Sure as shit. You guys get in my truck and I’ll hook ‘er up. Where you wanna go?”
Timmy and I shared a glance. There was only one place we wanted to be.
“Crow Street, Albany,” I said.
The guy shook his muffled head. “It’ll cost ya.”
“It’s my birthday and that’s where I want to go,” Timmy said.
“Suit yourself.”
Timmy and I clambered into the tow truck, thankful for the hot hair blasting from the heaters. By the time the driver climbed in beside us we were sweating.
It was a hair-raising trip. The driver, who told us his name was Sweeney, barreled down the road, my Honda swinging around behind us. When I mentioned his excessive speed he told me had never had an accident and didn’t intend to start now.
We were back home about an hour later and a hundred bucks poorer. We offered Sweeney a bed for the night, but he declined, saying he was on call until daybreak. He motored off down the street, his lights flashing, his tow chain clanging. I rescued the second bottle of champagne and followed Timmy into the house.
We took the bottle to bed, using it and an electric blanket to unthaw our fingers and toes. One thing led to another, and soon the bottle was empty and the electric blanket was on the floor.
I kissed Timmy’s sweaty chest. “Happy birthday.”
Timmy smiled, already half asleep. “I haven’t made a birthday wish.”
“Go ahead.”
“I wish-”
I kissed him again, unable to help myself. “If you tell it won’t come true.”
“Yes, it will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because a year from now, you’ll still be ignoring your transmission light.”