#they're on their way to Calgary for the Stampede actually

[faketrex]

For the prompts, would love to see firstprince and:

10) a dingy truck stop after 10 hours on the road

Thank you, friend!!

Thank you for the prompt, Allie! 💝

...

Henry learns how to pump gas at a truck stop outside Billings, Montana, well after sunset. Flying J, the sign says.

"What does the J stand for?"

"Jesus, maybe? Don't quote me on that. Now, listen: my pro tip is to not flip the hose lock thingy on the terminal until after you've put the nozzle in the tank. That way, it can't leak all over your shoes."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"No comment. Okay, go for it."

Carefully, Henry turns the fuel cap anti-clockwise until it clicks, then tugs it out. He removes the handled nozzle from the pump terminal, inserts it in the tank, and flips up the hose lock.

"Perfect. Now squeeze the handle a few times–there you go, like a champ. I'm so proud of you. A prince of England, pumping his own gas."

"If only my country could see me now."

"Did you know, there used to be two U.S. states where it was illegal to pump your own gas? Laws changed last year, so now there's only one. You've got five minutes to come up with a guess for which state it is." Alex reaches into the car and pulls out his Stetson, plopping it on Henry's head. "There, now you blend in. Don't blow yourself up."

With Alex inside the building, the truck stop is empty of voices, but still loud. Only a few hours earlier, they'd gotten out of the car to stretch their legs and Henry had been able to hear a cacophony of summer insects. Now, the sound of lorries–semi trailers–crunching through the car park and whizzing by on the road masks any signs of nature.

As if that weren't enough–as if someone at this truck stop couched between train tracks and a highway truly needed more auditory stimuli–there's tinny music piping through speakers in the metal canopy above the pumps. It's familiar, but just fuzzy enough that he can't quite pick out the melody amongst the competing noises.

The terminal chimes. Henry reaches over to flip the lock back down into place, going through the motions in reverse. First the hose lock, then the nozzle, then turn the gas cap until it click-clicks. Finally, he closes the fuel door and brushes his hands on his thighs.

"All good?" As he rounds the front of a truck, Alex looks Henry over like he's half expecting to find Cakegate part two, version Unleaded 88. "Did you figure out which state won't let you guzzle your own gas?"

"No cause for concern. But–" Henry pulls off the hat and settles it back on Alex's head. "I'm afraid you're going to have to tell me yet another story about your country's history of inconsistent state-level legislation."

"Sweet," Alex says, grinning. "That's kind of my specialty."

It's Hall and Oates, Henry realizes, as the chorus comes on just as he's climbing back into the car. You make my dreams come true. He's familiar with the feeling.