“I just like them,” I admit. “They’re cute and bring me happiness.” Geez, I sound like a teenager.
He reaches out and strokes his finger across my knuckles. “Happiness is important, and we should get it when and where we can.”
He’s right. I took my time with Carlos for granted, believing we would grow old together. “Of the cars, which one is your favorite? What’s your daily?”
“Daily?”
“My friend used that term a lot. I never used to use it until he started referring to his commuting car as his daily.”
“He’s a car guy?”
“Was a car guy,” I clarify, attempting to keep my voice steady, when inside I shed silent tears for the cars that were sold off after Carlos’s death, before I could scrape together the money to buy them.
“An old boyfriend?”
“My best friend. He’s gone.”
Thank goodness Bobby understood without me having to say the dreaded D word. I detest that word. There’s a finality to it. Carlos is “gone” but not forgotten, not by me.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ever.”
“Thank you,” I say in a soft voice. “So, what’s your daily? Your favorite?” I repeat my questions—anything to take away the melancholy wafting around me.
“I don’t have a daily or a favorite. Each vehicle serves a purpose, and that purpose drives my choices.”
“No pun intended, right?”
He laughs. “Correct.”
“Your answer has me curious. Twelve cars. Twelve purposes. You have a lot on your plate. Which brings us back to one of the questions you asked to skip. What do you do for a living to have so much purpose in your life?”
He regards me for a few heartbeats before he answers. “I run a business.”
“That must be difficult.” I fold my cloth napkin into the shape of a swan. “My boss is a small business owner. Some days, he loves working for himself. Other days, he would rather someone else make the tough calls.”
“I hear him.” He takes the napkin and unravels it.
“Hey.” I snag back the napkin.
“Do you keep in contact with your dad?”
I shrug. “He calls a few times a month. I never know when, though. He likes to surprise me. Says surprises keep me on my toes.” I toy with the napkin.
“You don’t like surprises.”
A statement rather than a question.
“Who does?” I shape the napkin into a heart and slide it over to Bobby.
He smirks. “What a surprise. Thank you.”
“You like it?”
“Surprises, yes. Talent with a napkin, absolutely.”
I laugh.
“What do you and your dad talk about?” He unravels the heart and tosses the napkin back. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to share.”
