The RV hummed along the coastal highway, the rhythmic crash of waves a constant lullaby outside. The air inside, however, still throbbed with the unspoken tension of the previous night's almost-kiss. Theo drove, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the road, but every fiber of his being was acutely aware of Remy. She was quieter than usual, her bright energy muted, and it gnawed at him. He hated the wall that had sprung up between them, a barrier of his own making, fueled by a discipline he'd once prided himself on, but now found suffocating.
Just as the silence threatened to become unbearable, Remy, who had been uncharacteristically absorbed in her phone, let out a joyful squeal. "Oh my God, Theo, stop the RV! You will not believe this!"
Theo slammed on the brakes, the massive vehicle shuddering. His hand instinctively went to his pistol, his eyes sweeping the road. "What is it, Remy?! Another ambush? Did they send in the clowns this time?"
Remy turned, her blue eyes alight with unadulterated glee, effectively banishing the earlier quietude. "Better! It's the annual 'Giant Gourd & Oddities Festival' in Squabble Creek, Oregon! Look!" She thrust her phone at him, displaying a grainy picture of a truly colossal pumpkin and a sign promising "World's Heaviest Turnip Competition!" "It's exactly what my list needs! Number 37: Witness a truly impressive vegetable. This is it!"
Theo stared at the image, then back at her incredulous face. "Squabble Creek? Remy, are you serious? We are not stopping for a vegetable festival. It's a security risk. Too many people. Too many variables."
Remy's chin jutted out, a familiar stubborn glint in her eyes. "Theo, we just survived a literal shootout over pie. A pumpkin festival is basically a spa day in comparison. Besides," she leaned in conspiratorially, "these small towns usually have the best local bakeries. Think of the potential for a new 'things to eat before I die' entry! What if they have a colossal squash cobbler? You can't deny me the pursuit of culinary greatness, Theo. It's part of my… journey." The subtle emphasis on "journey" and the glint in her eyes conveyed her underlying belief in her limited time, a familiar note to Remy, but still a veiled mystery to Theo.
Theo let out a long, suffering sigh. He knew this battle. And he knew he would lose. Ever since the pie shop ambush, his resistance to her whims had softened, replaced by a strange, almost paternal desire to see her joyful. And, he grudgingly admitted, her odd diversions often provided exactly the kind of unexpected cover he needed. "Fine," he conceded, throwing the RV back into gear. "But if anyone tries to sell me a knitted gourd cozy, you're driving."
Remy cheered, pumping her fist. "Victory! You won't regret this, Theo! Probably."
Squabble Creek was, indeed, a phenomenon. The main street was a riot of color and peculiar sights: stalls overflowing with every conceivable size and shape of gourd, a makeshift stage hosting a hilariously off-key banjo band, and a parade of locals dressed as various vegetables. Children ran wild, clutching sticky carnival treats. It was pure, unadulterated Americana, and for Theo, pure, unadulterated mortification.
Remy, however, was in her element. She dragged Theo from one stall to another, her laughter echoing above the din. "Oh my God, Theo, look at that giant zucchini! It's the size of a small child! Do you think it has a personality?" She then spotted a booth advertising a "Guess the Weight of the Prize-Winning Potato" contest. "This is it! My moment! I have a natural affinity for root vegetables!"
Theo stood by, a silent, imposing figure in his designer jeans and dark shirt, an island of urban sophistication in a sea of rural eccentricity. He watched, grudgingly amused, as Remy, with fierce concentration, peered at a truly enormous potato, then tapped it, sniffed it, and finally, with a flourish, wrote down her guess. She even managed to charm the stern-faced farmer running the booth, who gave her a rare, toothless grin.
Then came the pie-eating contest. Remy, naturally, insisted on participating. "It's pie, Theo! It's destiny! Plus, free pie!" She signed up with infectious enthusiasm, her competitive streak shining through. Theo, standing on the sidelines, watched in horror as Remy, face smeared with apple filling, devoured her pie with a gusto that was both disgusting and impressive. She didn't win, coming in a respectable (and messy) third, but her uninhibited glee was undeniable.
"You look like a disaster," Theo stated, handing her a napkin, a rare note of genuine amusement in his voice.
Remy just grinned, "But a happy disaster! You know, sometimes, you just gotta dive in. Even if it means face-planting into a metric ton of apples. It's about the experience." Her eyes, bright and full of life, held a familiar, urgent spark that Theo now understood was tied to her belief that every experience might be her last. He felt a pang in his chest, a deep ache of wanting to argue with that urgency, to tell her she had all the time in the world. But he couldn't.
Suddenly, a loud cheer erupted from the main stage. The "World's Heaviest Turnip" was being unveiled. The crowd surged forward, a crush of bodies eager to glimpse the prodigious vegetable. Remy, still wiping pie from her face, grabbed Theo's hand. "Come on! This is the highlight!"
He moved with the crowd, his senses on high alert despite the cheerful chaos. This kind of environment, unpredictable and dense, was ironically harder for professionals to operate in, but also harder to control if something went wrong. He kept his grip on Remy's hand, subtly shielding her, his dark eyes scanning the faces, the rooftops, the alleys.
A man, jostled by the crowd, stumbled directly into Theo. His hand, as it went out to steady himself, brushed Theo's hip, where his concealed pistol lay. Theo's muscles coiled. He felt the man's fingers graze the weapon, then quickly move away. It was a momentary, almost imperceptible contact. Was it accidental? Or was it a test? A probing move?
Theo's breath hitched. He spun, his eyes locking onto the man's retreating back as the crowd pushed them forward. He was average height, nondescript, melting back into the throngs of festival-goers. He had felt the familiar, professional touch. A flicker of something cold and dangerous went through Theo. They were here. Or at least, someone was here.
Remy, oblivious, tugged his arm. "Oh my god, Theo, it's enormous! It's like a beige bowling ball with leaves!"
Theo forced a tight smile, his mind racing. "Right. Enormous. Let's… let's get out of here, Remy. I think I've seen enough award-winning vegetables for one lifetime." His urgency was real, but now veiled in his usual gruffness. He tightened his grip on her hand, leading her, not subtly, towards the RV, his eyes still scanning, assessing.
Back in the relative quiet of the RV, Theo checked his burner phone. Nothing. No alerts. No immediate pursuit. But the feeling, the brushed contact, was too precise. He ran a hand over his face. They were being watched, subtly, calculatingly. The Valenti family didn't give up.
Remy, meanwhile, was happily recounting the highlights of the festival, already planning their next "list" adventure. "You know, Theo, this whole road trip thing? It's really putting my life into perspective. I mean, who knew a giant turnip could be so spiritually uplifting? It makes you really think about… well, everything." She looked at him, her smile fading slightly, a wistful, almost melancholic expression settling on her face. "You just gotta live every moment, right? Because you never know when your time's up."
Theo's gaze lingered on her, the unspoken words of his near-confession from the previous night echoing in his mind. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to tell her that her time wasn't up, that she had a future. But the brushed contact at the festival, the fresh wave of danger, reminded him of his complicated reality. He was dragging her into his world, a world where the clock wasn't just ticking for her, but for both of them, and for very different reasons. The contrast was stark, poignant, and almost unbearable.