We call out our goodbyes, and I open the door to my Lucy song playing softly.
That’s different. It’s usually blasting.
I want to comment on it, but I’m so tired. I still fulfill my part of our tradition, changing the song to my favorite.
He watches me recline the seat like I live here. “Rough night, Punk?”
“Meh. The usual. Sorry you had to wait.”
“You’re fine. I had some work emails to answer anyway.”
I buckle up and hit the skip button, singing “Hey Jude.”
My stress quickly melts into a grin as I reach up to pull my pink elastic tie out of his hair.
Weirdo.
He dodges my hand a few times before catching my wrist, but it’s a half-hearted fight. And as usual, Jude makes everything better.
My eyes are closed before I get my hair tie or my hand back.
Chapter 3
When the Lights Go Down
We only live about ten minutes from Pop’s, but it feels like I’ve been listening to Daniel sing for much longer.
Did I fall asleep?
I open my eyes to see his left hand with the bracelets draped over the steering wheel, and my gaze slides over the band of ink around his arm, angled so I can see the cross on the underside. Following the sound of his voice, I watch his mouth form each word with a soft smile under the glow of a red light. I realize he’s watching me when he puckers up and makes kissing noises to jolt me awake.
“You’re staring, baby. Any confessions? Comments? Complaints?”
Don’t read into it. He always messes with me when I’m groggy.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Did you want to do something?”
Sometimes we make late-night grocery runs or get a cherry limeade before we head home, but I’m so sleepy, and the music is so soothing. It’s his voice more than the music, which is acompletely irrelevant observation. But I could listen to him sing all night.
It’s pitch-black other than a few streetlights dotting the businesses along the road. It could’ve been minutes or hours. I don’t remember if I even spoke to him.
“No, but you were snoring so peacefully, I decided to drive over and check the other properties. Late-night car sleep is the best sleep.” He quickly squeezes my knee without looking away from the road.
Properties?
“Wait …snoring? How long?”
His amused smirk glows in the light of the dashboard. He’s always so proud of himself.
“Maybe an hour. I told you—car sleep is the best sleep. I got you a diet cherry limeade and a pretzel, but you never flinched.”
“You did? Thank you.” I sip my favorite non-caffeinated beverage and pull off a piece of the buttery soft pretzel twist from the small bag in the console.
“You’re welcome.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his random acts of thoughtfulness. Annie says he penguin-pebbles me—like the way penguins bring pebbles to potential mates. I think Annie spends way too much time watching videos.
“So, you have other properties?” I ask.
