"So, Becca—no one is going to be coming back for you, either."
"Erm . . . no," she admitted. "And, sad as it sounds, no one expecting me anywhere till work on Monday morning, either." She felt slightly uncomfortable admitting this to him, but he smiled and nodded in apparent understanding.
"Me, too. I had a quiet weekend planned, now this shoot is finished—sleeping in, doing nothing—and I told everyone I wanted to be left alone." Then he started to laugh. "I was always rubbish at planning."
Becca looked at him, stunned. "You're taking this rather well! We could be stuck here till Monday, seriously! Out in the middle of nowhere, with no mobile, no car—" She shook her head. "It's not funny."
Jon shrugged. "No, but as there's not much we can do at the moment, I thought I'd laugh at the absurdity of it. Better than panicking, isn't it?"
Becca did not know what to say to this logic, but she was saved trying to come up with something by another loud crack of thunder and the sudden arrival of a heavy downpour. She dashed for the driver's side door, throwing herself into the seat, and only remembering when she saw his hand on the door handle opposite her that she had locked all the doors. Becca leaned across and lifted the button as Jon yanked on the handle a second time, and then he was inside as well.
They both gasped and sputtered, wiping water from their faces. As soon as she could see, Becca turned to look at Jon, and found him already looking at her—and smiling. His hair was now plastered down flat on his head and drops of rain were rolling down his cheeks, clinging to his eyelashes, which were quite long and thick. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, and her eyes were drawn to his long, lean fingers, not to mention his full lower lip.
Despite herself, and the situation, Becca couldn't help thinking: He really is quite gorgeous, isn't he? She chased the thought away firmly, hoping it looked like she was just trying to shake out her wet hair. But when she looked back at him a moment later, he was still watching her. Becca turned to gaze out the window, hoping that, if she ignored the blush in her cheeks, he would, too. Then she felt his hand touch her shoulder lightly.
"I know it's a bad situation, Becca, but we'll be okay. Someone will notice we're missing, probably sooner than you think. We'll just have to soldier on till they get here, yeah?"
She nodded, but did not answer or turn away from the window. Jon obviously thought she was still upset, and Becca knew she would rather have him think that than guess that she had been, well, thinking about being stuck with him as a nice thing. As soon as she felt she had control of herself again, Becca twisted back round to face him, and gave him a weak smile.
"Good girl," he said. Normally she would have been annoyed at being spoken to that way, but coming from him . . . it didn't sound as bad as it usually did. She did roll her eyes at him, though, and her smile grew a little wider; he seemed to take it as a sign that she was rallying.
"So, Becca—I have two questions, given our situation. One, do we have any food? And two, how do you feel about cricket?"
"Cricket?" She gaped at him, incredulous. "You want to talk about cricket at a time like this! Has anyone ever told you you're mental?" She stopped short and clapped her hand over her mouth. Did I actually just say that, to Jonathan Jacobs? Oh, my god!
Jon started to laugh—a pure, unrestrained, honest laugh that put Becca at ease. She started laughing, too, and for several moments they simply couldn't stop. Every time she thought she had gotten herself under control, all she had to do was look at Jon and she'd burst out all over again—and he did the same. Finally he managed to pull a mock-stern face, and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, I’m sure my friends all think I am, but I wasn’t expecting such a pronouncement from someone I’ve just met. You’re a very perceptive woman!"
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