I sip my caramel macchiato and note we are making excellent time. I’m thankful for the caffeine this morning. I stayed up half the night completing the report my boss needed for his meeting. When I finally crawled into bed, I couldn’t sleep, even though I was incredibly grateful for the chance to do it at home.
Finn is slowly drinking hisoneblack cup of coffee and is unusually quiet this morning. Even though I sense he’d never pressure me for answers, I feel as if I owe him some kind of explanation.
I fidget with a string hanging from my cardigan, attempting to gain the courage to break the ice between us.
We both turn to look at each other at the same time, mouths open with the beginnings of a sentence.
“You first,” he states with an open hand, palm up.
“No, you go ahead. I don’t remember what I was going to say.” I don’t lie very well.
He reaches into his suit pocket and removes something as he speaks. “I was going to ask if you’d like some gum?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
He nods his head and unwraps a piece, stuffing it into his mouth then playing with the wrapper in his hand.
We sit in silence for what seems like an eternity before I finally get the courage to try again. “The cylinders are shot. It’s going to be a while before I can get it fixed.” As usual, my attempt at conversation leaves a lot to be desired.
“Cylinders? Are they important?” he asks.
I half expected him to act surprised that I brought up my car, like he wasn’t curious. But, he’s refreshingly straightforward. “Yeah, they’re pretty good things to have from what they tell me.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
I nod my head. “I’m going to figure out the train schedule today so I should be good for my ride home, but thank you for last night. And thank you for not pushing me for answers.”
“Two things,” he begins. “First, I have learned that patience is a gift, especially with you. Second, and I’m going to repeat myself even though I feel like a broken record, you DO NOT need to take the train or figure out a way home when I am perfectly capable of driving you.”
“I know you are, but—”
“Do you realize that I can cut at least thirty minutes off my drive every morning simply by picking you up? Do you have any idea what I can accomplish in thirty minutes?”
I shake my head as he counts items on his fingers.
“I can make an amazing eggs Benedict for breakfast. I can make two to three business calls securing advertisements for Seamore’s next big project. I can take a long, hot, relaxing shower.”
I picture him naked and feel my face blush at the idea.
“I can plan meetings, make contacts, develop life-altering marketing strategies—”
I finish his list. “Put that goop in your hair that makes it stand perfectly still even in the wind, fight world hunger, create world peace…”
He laughs. “Exactly. You’re saving me and the world by being my passenger. You really and truly are.”
He glances over at me, eyes deep blue and sincere. The dark suit he’s wearing today makes them pop even more.
Traffic crawls and we come to a stop in the carpool lane. He places one hand over his heart. “Let me drive you? Please? Help me fight world hunger?”
I roll my eyes and consider his words. He’s somehow made me feel like I’m helping him rather than being a burden. How did he manage to make me feel like I’m doing him a favor when he’s doing one for me?
“One condition,” I state.
“Name it.”
“You let me help pay for gas.”
“Not necessary.”
