I nodded, uncertain what a good place meant for her. I wasn’t entirely sure what it signified for me either, but it seemed like things were getting better. It made that tiny piece of hope growbigger, and for the first time in…years, a flicker of excitement burned deep in my stomach. Instead of going through the motions, I was looking forward to Friday.
Friday came fast. There was no reason to feel self-conscious in the GLO mobile. The navy SUV had belonged to my dad, and the license plate read GLO80, a tribute to his grandfather’s name, Graham Leonard Owens and year he was born. It was ten years old and had been a part of the family. The GLO, Big G, GLO-seph…I smiled as I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. We were the worst at nicknames.
“Care to share what prompted that little grin?” Elle asked, pulling me from the nice memory.
I coughed into my fist, my face flushing at being caught. I snuck a glance at her, her legs crossed in a red polka dot dress. She even wore a handkerchief in her hair. Just gorgeous.
“Well, a memory hit me.”
“Share it! I’m guessing it’s a good one?”
“Yeah. My parents came up with nicknames all the time. This vehicle belonged to my dad, and we referred to it as Big G, Glo-seph. I hadn’t thought about those names in years.”
“Glo-seph. Well, it’s an honor to meet you Big G.” She patted the side of the door, amusement in her tone. “I love that. What a nice memory.”
“I was Cal-ifornia. Callie-boy, Calzone.”
“Calzone.” She chuckled. “That’s great.”
“Our black lab was named Sassy growing up, but we rarely called her that. Instead, it was Toon, Toon-Pie, Saskatoon. Toonifer.” I laughed, a genuine cackle deep in my chest. It felt weird yet familiar to laugh about silly things. Rusty, like ridinga bike after ten years of it being locked up. “That dog was wild. She’d take our socks off our feet.”
Elle’s smile took up her whole face, and she let out a contented sigh. “This is my favorite thing you’ve ever told me. I love people who never use their dog’s real names. Oh! And people who have dogs with human names. Like, Adam or Jeremy or Brad. Have you ever heard of a dog named Brad?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Roarke. That’d be my dog’s name whenever I get one.” She hummed to herself. “Definitely Roarke.”
“Why?”
“Just a strong name… might be based from a character I really like.”
“From what?”
“A book.” She lost a little of the laughter on her face, and I poked more.
“Sure, but which one?”
“Some fiction novel,” she said, sighing and shaking her head. “No, not anymore,” she mumbled. Then she spoke louder. “It’s from a romance series written by the one and only Nora Roberts. She is the queen, along with Ms. Beverly Jenkins. I’m trying to not be ashamed of reading and writing romance.”
“Why be ashamed? You like what you like, and fuck, writing a book? That’s insanely hard.”
“Laying it on thick there, Calzone. I’ve already forgiven you for the comment about creative writing, so no need to sprinkle extra compliments on it.” She snorted.
I wasn’t doing anything like that. “I meant it. You like what you like, no shame in that.” My own face got hot again thinking about my plants and YouTube obsession.Tell her. Open up.
“Okay then. It’ll be hard when some literary fiction writer tells me its smut or fluff, but like, why is it bad to enjoysomething that’s about acceptance and love and happy endings? It’s so annoying.”
“People are idiots.”
“Generally, yes.”
I glanced at her again as we approached the country road that led to Zed’s, the new greenhouse I couldn’t wait to visit. They sold organic everything too. Elle wore some color on her lips, and it only amplified my attraction to her. It enhanced her already perfect features. “So,” I said, unsure of what to ask. I wanted to hear her speak and laugh and to learn more about her. “What’s your favorite book?”
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t know.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Really. It’s too hard. I have lists of favorites and ones that I’ll always reread but a one-time favorite? I can’t.”
