It was the middle of July. Humidity saturated the hot afternoon air, turning it into a steamy sauna. I had crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, heading south, and stopped for a late lunch at Beachie’s Burger Shack on Highway 13. The place wasn’t crowded. Only two tables were occupied, and she was sitting at one of them. Damp, dark hair framed her face. She was studying a road map and sipping a cola. Man, there was something about her. She wore an Ocean City t-shirt, loose and off her shoulder, and white shorts that hugged her brown thighs. Her feet swung while she concentrated.

I thought of something to say and sauntered over. I had to.

“Can I help?” I leaned over her shoulder and glanced at the map. “I know the roads pretty good.” I drove a truck for a local air freight company.

She looked up at me and hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m going to Florida, and I need to find the interstate.”

My mind jumped into action. “Let me look.”

With a brief, unsure smile, she motioned for me to sit down, so I slid into the chair next to her. Her skin had a salty-sweet scent. A strand of hair fluttered against her cheek, and tiny silver dolphins swung from her ears as the ceiling fan stirred the air.

We talked for a bit. I told her I worked for Portsmouth Air Cargo, hauling air freight to and from the Norfolk airport. She said she was driving south from her sister’s place in Salisbury, Maryland. We commented on the weather and debated on which beach was better—Ocean City or Virginia Beach. I ordered a burger and extra fries to share. She said the boardwalk fries in Ocean City were the best on the beach. I agreed and insisted that Casamento’s pizza in Virginia Beach was the best on the East Coast. She laughed.

Then it happened. Sometime, while we downed Shack fries and looked for I-95 on the map, her leg brushed against mine. It hit me hard. An electric shock moved up my calf and zinged me right in the lower part of my gut.

“What’s in Florida?” I tried to sound casual, but my words came with determination that surprised me. I was a loner, happy to roam the roads with the likes of Tim McGraw and Garth Brooks singing their country songs. I didn’t long for a woman’s touch. So why was I plotting to stay in her life when all she needed were a few simple directions?

Her grey eyes clouded over, and her gaze shifted to the map on the table. “What’s in Florida?” she repeated. “My new life.” She volunteered nothing more.

I sat there, not knowing what to say. I knew she was lost. But it would take more than a wrinkled road map from a gas station to help her find her way.

When she looked up, her small, delicate face had brightened some, though a trace of sadness still pulled at her lips. She needed a friend, and I fantasized that she needed me. I already knew I needed her. Crazy thoughts jammed their way into my mind. Did I see my own unhappiness in her expression? Was I lost, too, and couldn’t acknowledge it?

“You’re lost.” And then the truth spilled out of me. “I know. Me too.”

I took her hand. I meant it as a gesture of friendship and support, but my body betrayed my good intentions. That simple, brief touch sent a searing current of fire down to my groin and left me gasping for breath. It stunned me. Embarrassed me. Yet, I was hopeful. Had my touch electrified her, too? Hell, it could happen. Why not? Two strangers, who met at a burger place hitting it off? Crazier things had happened.

She continued to hold my hand. We both held on tightly, as though we’d found a newly discovered lifeline. As our connection remained unbroken, I sensed she chose her next words carefully.

“You’re right.” Her eyes locked on our entwined fingers. “I am lost. I’ve been lost for years. And the funny thing is, I never noticed that I missed a turn in the road. Then one day I realized I didn’t know where I was.”

Her eyes, I saw, had filled with water. On impulse, I wiped away a teardrop as it rolled down her cheek. I wanted to do more, though. I wanted to pull her close. Hold her. Kiss away her sorrow and help her find her way.

“I don’t know what’s in Florida,” she continued, still looking down at our hands. “Another chance for me to find my way… or another wrong turn on this road to nowhere.” She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “One thing’s for sure. I can’t go on like I was.”

A growing tightness squeezed my chest. God, I knew what she meant. It hurt, sometimes, being alone and feeling lost. I thought about the roads I missed and the road I wanted to take now. Her road. Why shouldn’t I try a new route? Did I had the guts to give up my solitary life and run off with this beautiful stranger? Without thinking, I pulled my chair closer to hers and slipped my arms around her. I thought I was comforting her but realized I was holding her to save my own life. She didn’t pull away.

With closed eyes, I rested my cheek against her hair. The solace I found from the touch of a stranger startled me.

“Sometimes it’s hard to go down a new road,” I murmured. “You’re never sure how bumpy it will be. It’s not something I’ve done much.”

“Me either.”

We sat there for a long time. The sun had transformed into an orange ball perched on the western horizon, and the last rays of golden light had spread across the bay.

After a while, she spoke. “Where are you going?”

I drained my cola can and thought about it. Where was I going? I wanted to go somewhere wild and risky. I needed to feel alive. I wanted to go with her, but fear threatened to hold me back. So what I said next shocked me.

“I should try to find that interstate with you.”

She turned and looked directly into my eyes, her brows drawn into a frown. I felt her tremble.

“Florida’s a long way. I don’t know what I’ll find. But I could use a friend.”

A friend? I needed a lover, a soulmate. My need grew every second I held her. I hungered for passion, and finding it with her was a possibility. I didn’t want to let her go. I could experience more happiness than I’ve ever known. Or, I could get into my truck and drive home to my safe, secure life.

She watched me as though she was trying to see into my head and read my thoughts. I could almost hear her ask, what are you going to do? What would I tell her? Yes… or no.

“It’s time I headed down the road,” she said.

I looked past her, beyond Beachie’s, and into the night. Then I stood up and pulled her to me. I felt her breasts rub against my ribs. Her hips brushed mine. I held her gaze, and wordlessly asked if I could kiss her. She nodded. And then I did. I felt a jolt surge through me again and ignite my body. My heart pounded. My hands shook. I pulled her even closer, as close to me as possible, and continued the kiss. My gut screamed at my brain. Yes! This was right.

Then I let her go.

“Yeah, I better be heading home,” I said. “Keep driving south on Highway 13. It turns into Highway 58, which takes you right to I-95. Traffic shouldn’t be bad this time of day.”

What was the matter with me? I heard myself say it, but I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to say, ‘I’m coming with you. Let’s go find that road together. You and me.’ But, for some reason, those words didn’t come out. As much as I wanted to, needed to, I couldn’t bring myself to take the risk. I chose safety instead.

“Well, thank you for the fries and the directions. I guess I better go.”

She smiled at me, but it didn’t mask the disappointment in her eyes. I had reneged on my offer to go with her. She hesitated for a moment, giving me a chance to change my mind. Then she turned away and walked out of Beachie’s.

Pain slammed my chest and stomach. I wanted to run after her, jump in her car, and drive into the night to some to-be-determined town in Florida. Instead, I stood there and watched her leave to find a new life without me.

I was a damned fool.

I walked out of the restaurant alone, got into my truck, and drove down Highway 13 into the darkness.