My husband and I were on our way back home from the restaurant and got stuck in a terrible traffic jam. I’d had a rough day, so 15 minutes later I fell asleep. I woke up to my husband getting out of the car.
I looked out the window, and it was dawn! My first thought was: had we been stuck in traffic all night?! I looked out and realized we were no longer on the highway.
We were parked in front of a tiny gas station in a town I didn’t recognize. My mouth was dry, and my back ached from the awkward position I’d slept in. I rubbed my eyes and stepped out of the car.
The sky was streaked with soft pinks and oranges, and the air had that cool, still feeling that only early morning brings. He came back with two coffees and a paper bag. “Morning,” he said, handing me one of each.
I gave him a look. “Where are we?” I asked. He shrugged.
“I got tired of waiting. After an hour or so, I took the next exit. Thought we could take a break and drive through some back roads.”
I sipped the coffee.
It was surprisingly good. “So… we’re lost?” I asked. He grinned.
“Not lost. Just… rerouted.” I laughed in spite of myself. We drove through sleepy towns and winding roads, passing fields and old barns.
I rolled down the window. It felt good. Peaceful.
Different. Eventually, we stopped for breakfast at a diner with a rusted sign that read “Milly’s.” The pancakes were fluffy, the waitress called us “honey,” and I could feel my shoulders slowly unclenching. Back on the road, we drove in silence for a while.
Then he spoke. “You remember that couple we met at the wedding last year? Tom and Rea?” I nodded.
“They moved out here. Bought a place nearby. Rea invited us for coffee if we were ever in the area.” I frowned.
“That was like nine months ago.” “Still,” he said, “I thought it might be nice.”
We pulled into their driveway an hour later. It was a modest home, but charming, tucked away behind a row of tall pines. Rea looked shocked but happy to see us.
She ushered us in, barefoot and smiling. Tom brought out homemade scones and cracked a few jokes. What was supposed to be a ten-minute coffee turned into three hours of stories, laughter, and a walk around their vegetable garden.
They looked happier than I remembered. Calmer. More rooted.
On our way out, Rea grabbed my hand. “Come back anytime,” she said. “Seriously.
I mean it.”
As we drove away, I stared out the window, thoughtful. “What if we did this more often?” I asked. “What?” he said.
“Get lost?” “No,” I said. “Just… slowed down. Took random exits.
Talked to people. Lived a little.”
He didn’t answer right away, but I saw the corner of his mouth lift. A few weeks later, we did it again.
No plans, no destination. Just a tank of gas, some snacks, and a loose idea of heading north. We found a lakeside café with the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had, an old bookstore that only took cash, and a couple celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary on the porch of a roadside motel.
They told us stories about their first car, how they got engaged during a thunderstorm, and how every year they still write each other love letters. We left with warm hearts and a strange kind of hope. This new tradition of ours became something we started looking forward to.
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