I nodded, my throat tight.
“Say it.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Again.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Good.” His thumb stroked across my cheekbone, gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. “I need you to believe that and stop blaming yourself for trusting someone who didn’t deserve it.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I just stood there, leaning into his touch, letting myself feel safe for the first time in years.
“Do you want to spend the day with me?” he asked suddenly. “I had plans. For us. If you’re free.”
“Yes,” I said immediately, fuck nonchalance. I wanted out of this apartment for the day.
It was the right choice, because his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree with a real smile, one that made him look younger and softer and completely, devastatingly beautiful.
“Give me ten minutes. I need to grab a few things.”
I nodded and bit my lip as he turned and literally ran downstairs. The moment he was out of sight, I sprinted into panic mode.
I brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, applied mascara with shaking hands, poking myself in the eye twice. I changed out of my ratty pajamas into a sundress, the green one that made my eyes look good. Switched my underwear for a nicer pair.
Not that I was expecting anything to happen. But…Just in case. I felt like a teenager getting ready for prom. It was ridiculous and wonderful.
I was waiting by the door when he knocked again, my heart beating too fast and my palms slightly sweaty. I didn’t knowwhere we were going or what we were doing. I just knew I’d said yes, and I didn’t regret it.
Caelan returned with a basket and led me to a car parked on the street. It was a nice car. Newer, expensive-looking, the kind of vehicle that suggested money without screaming about it, nothing like my old piece of metal that sometimes passed as a car. He opened the passenger door for me like a gentleman, and I slid inside, inhaling that new-car smell.
Then he got behind the wheel, and it became immediately clear that Caelan had no idea how to drive.
The engine stalled before we even left the parking spot.
“That was intentional,” he said, restarting it.
It stalled again at the first intersection.
“Also intentional.”
By the third stall, in the middle of the road with cars honking behind us and someone yelling profanity out their window, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
“Do you actually know how to drive?” I wheezed.
“I know the theory.” The engine turned over, sputtered, died again. “Execution is... developing.”
“Where did you learn? A demolition derby?”
“I grew up somewhere with very few cars.” He finally got the vehicle moving, jerking forward in a way that made me grab the door handle and say a quick prayer to whatever deity watchedover passengers of terrible drivers. “We had other modes of transportation.”
“Like what? Horse-drawn carriages?”
The look he gave me suggested that was more accurate than I intended.
“I’m an excellent rider,” he said defensively. “This machine is just... uncooperative.”
“The machine looksnew. Those are the most cooperative cars on the market.”
