“Fair warning,” she said as Celeste started the car with visible reluctance. “I'm a spur-of-the-moment person. There will probably be more detours. So I'm apologizing in advance for the chaos I'm about to introduce to your very organized life.”
Celeste seemed about to say something in response. Ruby watched the war play out on her face—the desire to refuse versus something else, something that looked almost like mild curiosity.
“You can't just…we have reservations. A route. I made a spreadsheet.”
“You made a spreadsheet for a road trip?”
“It has color-coding.”
“Of course it does.” Ruby couldn't help it. She was absolutely delighted. Celeste looked so adorably flustered, that little line appearing between her eyebrows. Ruby had the sudden, inappropriate urge to smooth that line away with her thumb. “I promise the detour will be worth it. Scout's honor.”
“Were you even a scout?”
“Irrelevant.”
Celeste muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Italian cursing and pulled onto the road. Ruby settled back in her seat, victorious. She'd won this round, even if she suspected Celeste was already mentally recalculating their entire schedule to accommodate this deviation.
The music debate started approximately thirty seconds later.
“It would be nice to listen to something nice,” Ruby said, reaching for the aux cord.
“You’re picking?”
“Yes. I love objectively perfect driving music.”
“I get the feeling they’re sappy love songs.” Celeste changed lanes with precision that probably gave her insurance company warm feelings. Everything Celeste did was precise. Controlled. Ruby wondered what it would take to make her lose that control entirely. “Mostly about pining and longing and—”
“Emotions?”
“Excessive emotions.”
“There's no such thing as excessive emotions in music. That's the whole point.” Ruby scrolled through her playlist, looking for something that would make Celeste's eye twitch just a little. “You probably listen to classic rock and pretend it makes you sophisticated.”
“Classic rock is timeless.”
“Classic rock is what dads play at barbecues.”
Celeste's mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. Ruby counted that as a victory. “Now, about this music situation. I've been thinking about it, and I have a proposal.”
“I'm almost afraid to ask.”
“We each get to pick five songs per hour. No vetoes, no complaints. Complete musical democracy.”
“That seems fair. What if your taste is objectively terrible?”
“Then you'll have to suffer through it like an adult.” Ruby said, already deciding on what to play. “But I promise to ease you in gently. Think of it like exposure therapy.”
“You're comparing your music taste to a phobia treatment?”
“If the shoe fits.”
The first song Ruby chose was something upbeat, the kind of indie pop that probably played in trendy coffee shops.
Celeste began humming along and stopped immediately.
“You like it,” Ruby said, triumphant.
“I'm withholding judgment.”
