"You need to download a guy with a British accent for your GPS, Katy. It would make the three-hour drive more interesting," I say jumping from the big red truck we drove to the auction house in.
The door behind mine opens, and Anessa falls out the side, catching herself before she face-plants on the loose stone parking lot. "But no less scary."
"Why are you two complaining? I got us here in under two-and-a-half hours. That's a great time." Katy's excitement over her driving skills doesn't work on me. The ride with her was terrifying. From now on, someone else has to drive for these journeys.
The road trip was Katy's plan. I volunteered to drive the three of us on our cross-state trek to visit an auction house so Anessa could purchase tables and chairs for the bakery — she's going for a
