Red Truck Rendezvous

ignore them all. He didn’t need a bossy woman telling him his job. He would proceed as he saw fit, whether Portia liked it or not. He didn’t believe in doing a job halfway.
“Pablo,” Gram’s voice caught the younger man by surprise, and he looked up from his bowl of hot blueberry cobbler smothered in fresh vanilla ice-cream. “Be a gentleman and walk Ms. Portia back to her site. You never know what critters might be about. Even the harmless ones can give a body quite the start if they aren’t expecting them.”
“Yes, Gram.” Pablo’s voice expressed precisely what he thought of the idea, but he didn’t refuse. Gram was the sweetest lady he had ever known, and he could never tell her no. Shoving as much cobbler into his mouth as he could, he rose indicting that if Portia was ready, they could go.

Chapter 7
A cool breeze ruffled the waves of the lake, sending them shushing against the shore and casting the surroundings of the Old Inn in welcome coolness as together Pablo and Portia walked down off the wide porch.
Pablo padded along next to his guest and client, hoping they wouldn’t begin to argue again. The night was peaceful, a half-moon lighting their way toward the little camper with its beckoning lanterns dancing on the breeze.
“How long have you had the camper?” Pablo knew he was being rude, not speaking, and felt this was a safe subject.
“About a year,” Portia said. “I picked it up from the cutest little old lady. She seemed to be fixated on red, white, and Christmas. If I had met her as a child, I would have been convinced I’d met the real Mrs. Claus.” Portia’s giggle floated into the night on gossamer wings. “I thought it was odd when I bought it, not only was the trailer in pristine condition, but the owner said they were selling it because they were just too busy to use it anymore. Can you believe that? You would think that retirees would have more time, not less.”
“I guess it depends on their priorities,” Pablo mused. “Some older people work, have large families to keep up with, watch their grand or even great-grandchildren. I can’t imagine Gram leaving the inn to traipse around the country.”
Portia turned, looking at Pablo. The misty light of the half-moon falling on his face highlighted his strong jaw, high cheekbones, and luminous eyes.
“I hadn’t thought of that before. Me, I want to see things, and frankly, I don’t have anything pressing to keep me in one place. Here we are.”
Pablo came to a stop under the patch of light that marked the awning as Portia pulled a key out of her tiny bag. “Let me know if you need anything,” he said politely, turning to go. “I’ll be at the garage first thing tomorrow. I’ll keep you updated on my progress with your truck.”
“Coffee?” The words pulled Pablo to a stop like a string snapping a marionette upright. “I’d like to show you my rig.” Portia sounded suddenly vulnerable, but she wasn’t ready to call it a day.
“Sure,” Pablo turned, smiling. Gram had told him to be polite after all. It had nothing to do with his curiosity about what the interior of the red and white travel trailer looked like or how pretty the host was.
“I’ll give you the two-minute tour.” Portia’s voice was light as she opened the door stepping inside and glancing over her shoulder to see that he followed. “Pull the screen door closed.”
Pablo stepped up the metal stairs pulling the aluminum screen door closed behind him and grinning as Portia flicked on a light. The place was straight out of the fifties in a plethora of red, white, and black checkered floor.
“The table turns into the bed,” Portia pointed to the table with the U-shaped booth at the front of the rig. The red tabletop glistened softly in the light, and the red and white cushions on the bench-style seating looked comfortable. Three big windows wrapped the front of the coach, and Pablo knew that on a bright day, it would give a sense of openness, not to mention great views.
“I like the pillows,” he grinned, pointing at the throw pillows decorated in a variety of what looked like Christmas ornaments. At a glance, he saw a goose, a carousel horse, and a pineapple of all things.
“I told you the woman had a fixation with Christmas. If you look closely at the piping on the benches, they have tiny white Christmas trees on them.”
Pablo leaned closer, chuckling. “Cute.”
“I’ll start the coffee,” Portia smiled back, moving into the tiny kitchen.
“You have a real porcelain sink, that’s a surprise.” Pablo continued to look around him at the white cupboards trimmed in red, and all of the décor.
“I love my kitchen,” Portia admitted, gesturing around her with a coffee scoop. “At first, I thought I’d repaint, but the white is bright and cheerful, besides with the red trim on the doors, you have enough color. Not to mention the stove.” Her eyes grew bright as she flicked the gas on and placed a stark black kettle on the burner of the red four-burner gas stove. “I’ve been dying to use everything, and this trip is just the ticket.”
Pablo smiled, surprised at enjoying his time with Portia. She obviously loved the place and was happy being out here on her own. “Do you like all old things?”
“I do, the more retro, the better. Wait till you see the bathroom.” She giggled, a tiny snort escaping making her laugh harder. “Here come see.”
The bathroom area was at the very back of the trailer with a little window above the sink, situated in the middle of that space. To the right of the sink, a shower, no more than three-by-three foot square, the frosted glass door draped by a red shower curtain covered in stylized reindeer and Christmas greeting. On the left, a standard toilet with a set of tall