“Welcome to the South,” I replied.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just let me get my laptop.”
He offered to drive to our meeting, and I reluctantly agreed. It was kind of weird for me. It brought back a lot of memories. I didn’t have a car my freshman year, and he was my main source of transportation. I kept reminding myself that memory was of Ian, and I tried to pretend Ian didn’t exist—only Mr. Greyson.
We walked down together and out to his car. To my discomfort he followed me to the passenger side.
“Um . . . this isn’t a date.”
“Sorry, old habit.” His ears pinked.
Yeah, this is why I didn’t want to drive with him, but he opened my door anyway. When he opened his own door, he looked at his hands. “What in the world is all this yellow stuff on everything?”
I laughed at him until he got in and reached up to rub his eyes. I instantly grabbed his hand without a second thought. He stiffened at my touch, not sure how to react. I tried not to react other than to say, “Believe me, you don’t want to touch your eyes. That yellow stuff ispollen.” Only southerners would understand. Back West, pollen didn’t manifest itself this way.
I let go of his hand and reached into my satchel to pull out some wet wipes. “Here, wipe your hands off.”
He took the wipe from me and wiped his hands. When he was done, I handed him an allergy tablet. I stocked up on them this time of year. “This will dissolve in your mouth. It should help with your itchy eyes.”
“Will this make me drowsy?” he asked.
“I think what you meant to say was, ‘Thank you, Ms. Bryant.’ Because Ms. Bryant isn’t fool enough to give someone medication that would make him an unsafe driver, especially when she’s a passenger.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bryant.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Greyson.”
After taking the medicine, he flipped down his visor and pulled out a pair of glasses. When he put them on, I found myself involuntarily smiling at him. There was my Ian.
“I know, I hate them, but I can’t drive without them with my contacts out.”
“I like the glasses,” I said quietly. I probably shouldn’t have, but it slipped out.
He narrowed his eyes as if I was being insincere.
“Really, I do.” And unfortunately, I really did. I turned away from him and looked forward, putting on my own sunglasses. We hadn’t even gone anywhere, and I was ready to be out of his car. I kept repeating,this is Mr. Greyson, glasses or no glasses.I also tried not to remember the marathon make-out sessions that had occurred in his old Toyota Corolla. Boy did I miss that car.
He brought me back to reality when he asked me to run through my notes with him again. I normally would have declined, but under the circumstances, I was grateful to think about something other than him. He threw in some last-minute suggestions, but I assured him I had this.
“You need to trust me. And you can always jump in if you need to. This isn’t only my show, we’re a team.” That sounded so weird to say.
He briefly glanced my way. “I like the sound of that.”
I stared out the window. “Yeah,” I mumbled.
The ride was mostly quiet after that, which was fine with me. It confused me when he was nice to me.
He was super tense as we walked across the parking lot.
“Is this your status quo?” I asked.
“It helps me stay focused.”
“Okay, but at least smile.”
He flashed me a smoldering smile before opening the glass door.
