“Then it’s broken.”
“It’s not broken. You’re just bad at this.”
“I am not bad at things.”
“Just admit it. You’re bad at this.”
He scowled at the steering wheel like it had personally offended him. The car stalled again.
We made it out of town eventually, the car stalling only four more times. I stopped being scared and started finding it endearing. The way he muttered at the gearshift, the way he white-knuckled the steering wheel like he was wrestling a bear. How he looked so genuinely frustrated at this human technology that refused to cooperate with his obviously superior will.
He drove us into the woods, down a winding dirt road, until we reached a clearing.
My breath caught.
It was beautiful. A meadow filled with wildflowers, purple and yellow and white, stretching in every direction like someone had spilled a paint palette across the grass. Trees surrounded us on all sides, creating a private little world. A stream bubbled somewhere nearby, the sound of water over rocks. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, dappling everything in gold.
“Jade told me about this place,” Caelan said, cutting the engine. The car died with a grateful-sounding wheeze. “She said you’d like it.”
“I love it.”
He smiled. That real, unguarded smile that made my heart stutter and my brain go fuzzy.
He pulled a basket from the backseat and we spread a blanket in the middle of the flowers. The basket was packed with food, cheeses and bread and fruit and little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. There was wine, chocolate, and tiny pastries that looked delicious.
“Did you think of buying all this?” I asked, incredulous.
“Thessa helped.” A pause. “Thessa did most of it. I supervised.”
“You supervised.”
“Very thoroughly. I was essential to the process.”
“What did you actually contribute?”
“Moral support. Also I carried the basket.”
“Truly invaluable.” I smiled.
“I knew you’d understand.”
We ate, and the conversation flowed easily. I told him about the guy who brought his mother to our first date. “She ordered for him. Cut his steak and called me ‘adequate.’”
“Adequate?”
“Her exact words were ‘well, she’s adequate, I suppose.’ I excused myself to the bathroom and climbed out the window.”
“You climbed out a window?”
“Second story. There was a dumpster. I made it work.”
He was laughing now, the sound warm and rich. “What else? Tell me the worst ones.”
“There was the guy who tried to sell me a timeshare. On the date. Pulled out a presentation and a financing plan.”
“No.”
“I wish I was joking. He had graphs.”
