An Old Fashioned Romance

From An Old-Fashioned Romance by Marcia Lynn McClure

“Climb on in,” Reese said as he opened the door to just about the most beaten up old, blue pickup Breck had ever seen.  Breck smiled at him as she stepped up into the passenger’s side of the truck.  Given his attire that day and his mode of transportation, he looked as if he could’ve just stepped out of her Uncle’s barn on the old McCall ranch.

As Reese shut her in and walked around the truck to get in himself, Breck took a quick look around inside.  Now this was a real man’s truck, she noted.  Gum wrappers littered the faded dashboard, there was a long crack in the windshield running vertically down in front of her.  The gearshift was so old and so well used, that the gear numbers were completely worn off.  There was a distinct aroma in it as well, a combination of Speed Stick, mint gum and soil.  Not the expected vehicle choice of a man who made far beyond six figures annually.

“Buckle up,” he said, grinning as he hopped into the truck and turned the ignition.
Breck grinned as she buckled the vintage seat belt, lap belt only, across her tummy and cinched it tight.  She thought she might burst into beams of joy as he pulled the old cap from his back pocket, slapped it onto his head facing backward, and pulled a stick of gum from the pack lodged in the ashtray.

‘How cute,’ Breck thought as she watched him toss the empty wrapper onto the dashboard.  He kept the gum in the old ashtray and threw the wrappers around everywhere.

…“I know, I know,” Reese said, smiling at her when he caught her staring at him.  “Don’t feel bad…chicks always dig this pickup.”

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