Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“Would you like to get some air?” Peyton asked her. That brought back her smile. He asked Floyd to drive them to Forsyth Square, where tourists were always posing by the grand old fountain, taking pictures to send home. Peyton laid his jacket on a park bench to protect her dress, and the two of them sat in the moonlight and talked—really talked—until it was time to take her home. For the first time, Peyton realized what it was like to be with a girl he couldn’t bear to part from.
But they were parted—had, in fact, been forced apart. And while Peyton knew there were far worse places to be stuck than St. Augustine, stuck was stuck. All he could do now was mentally calculate the distance between here and Miami and get himself ready to take a ride.
thirteen
Peyton had spent the whole day roaming St. Augustine and had secured the Madame back at Aunt Gert’s dock on the river. He was halfway to the house when he saw it—a gorgeous bike, parked by the back steps.
It looked like a brand-new Western Flyer. Peyton hadn’t seen a new bike since before the war. All the factories were too busy helping with the military effort to make them. But this one—it had never touched the road. It was red with cream trim and a brown leather saddle. It had a built-in headlight, a sleek tank, and a rack behind the seat that flowed perfectly with the frame.
“Meet your new companion.” Aunt Gert had been watching him from the screened porch and now came outside to join him.
“Aunt Gert, where did this come from?”
“The store.”
“Yes, ma’am, I realize that, but what I mean is . . .”
“Peyton, sometimes you’re just way too polite for your own good. The bike is yours. I bought it for you and meant to have it here when you got into town, but Western Auto was a little slow gettin’ my order delivered. And don’t you even think about tellin’ me I shouldn’t have. I quit worryin’ about shoulds and shouldn’ts before you were ever thought of. It’s just a bike. Ride it. Enjoy it. Enough said.”
“Thank you, Aunt Gert. I’ve never seen anything like it. What’s this?” He pointed to the saddlebag draped over the rack, secured with a buckled strap.
“That’s filled with things you’ll need to take with you when you make up your mind to do the thing we both know you’re eventually gonna do. A couple o’ spare inner tubes, money, a water flask—the essentials. I got you a small bike pump too. And one other thing. Finn has an old Navy buddy who slipped him a bottle o’ stuff that’s s’posed to keep the bugs off. It’s just for the military, so don’t let anybody know you’ve got it. Best to be prepared. Now come on inside, supper’s ready. You can take your bike out to see the sights when we’re done—after you call your mama, that is.”