She nearly spit out her coffee. Polka album covers were so cheesy they almost circled back to good.
“It’s all about the song, don’t you think?” she asked.
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “What’s your favorite record?”
“I couldn’t pick just one,” she said. “It’s like choosing your favorite kid. I mean . . . I’dimagine.” She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “Doyouhave a favorite?”
“Anything by the Humbler.”
As they chatted, the coffee shop patrons closed in on them like zombies in Michael Jackson’sThrillervideo.
“It’s getting crowded,” she muttered, her patience thinning with every phone camera raised in Cary’s direction.
He glanced around, then back at her. “Want to get out of here?”
“Yes!” she said, jumping to her feet. “We can head back to the office, load your mail into my truck, and I’ll drive you home.”
Regret washed over Tyler as soon as the words left her mouth.
After grabbing the mail from the office, Tyler walked down the stairs to SDM’s parking garage with Cary, her dog heeling obediently at her feet.
She pointed to the car parked beside hers. “My next one’s going to be electric,” she mused.
Right now, she couldn’t afford anything newer. She glanced at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to call for a car?”
While sorting through the mail, she’d admitted—somewhat ruefully—that her truck was a little beat up. Maybe he’d prefer a more comfortable ride home. But Cary had waved it off without hesitation.
He hoisted the heavy mailbags into the trunk, then slid into the passenger seat like it was nothing.
“Nope. This is great,” he said. Then, spotting her wrestling Rory into his seatbelt harness, he added, “Need a hand?”
“I’m good,” she said.
But she wasn’t good at all.
Rory squirmed like a worm on a fishing hook, and she had nothing to reel him in. As she fumbled with his harness, it slipped through her fingers—he hurdled the console, landing in Cary’s lap and covering his face in frantic licks.
“Rory Robertson! Get down!”
“It’s fine,” Cary said, laughing as he steadied the miniature panda.
Rory loved riding shotgun.
Thankfully, her truck started after one turn of the key, so she headed south toward Yaletown on Richard’s Street. She drove slower than the speed limit because her two-million-dollar insurance policy wasn’t enough coverage with Cary sitting next to her.
He pointed to the window. “I live just around the corner.”
She tapped on the steering wheel. “Hey, have you heard the new Arkells song?”
Cary turned his head. “Who?”
“Arkells.” She annunciated clearly. “Their new song.”
“Arkells?” he asked again, clearly baffled.
“Oh my god, Cary!” She took her eyes off the road for a split second. “They’re my favorite band. Banger after banger.”
“I’ll check them out,” he said, amused. “You can turn left at the next street.”
