We piled into his sensible sedan. Michelle stretched out in the back, and I rode in the co-pilot seat, feeling like a teenager being driven to the mall by his dad.
“So, what’s the plan once you’re in?” Paul asked, keeping his eyes on the road.
I glanced back at Michelle. Neither of us had anything resembling a plan. We were parents. Planning was something we used to do.
“We were, you know… thinking of winging it,” I said.
“You’re winging it?” Paul’s brows shot up. “Michelle, you can’t tell me you haven’t meticulously thought this through.”
“Normally, I would have,” she replied. “But I have baby brain, and I’m not operating at full capacity.”
“Wow, okay. This is going to go worse than I thought.” Hesighed. “What if Tom spots you? Are you going to run? Michelle’s not lookin’ real athletic at the moment. And, I mean, if I were Tom, the first thing I’d have done is change the locks.”
Michelle and I exchanged a look.
“I didn’t know you could change the lock on a car,” she said.
“Yeah,” Paul said. “I know a guy.”
“We don’t need a lock guy,” I said, puffing up. “If it comes down to it, I’ll break a window and hotwire it.”
Michelle sat up straighter. “You can hotwire cars? How did I not know that about you?”
“I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been known to steal a car or two in my day.”
“Oh, my god, honey.” She patted my shoulder. “I’m so impressed.”
“Don’t be,” Paul grumbled. “He stole our dad’s car. Doesn’t count.”
“It does count.” I looked back at Michelle. “Doesn’t it, honey?”
“That’s right. What matters is you did it,” she said, beaming at me. God—she hadn’t looked that happy in a long time. It felt like our six wild weeks all over again.
“Jesus,” Paul muttered. “Do you two need a room?”
The drive took another twenty minutes, weaving through pristine suburban streets until we reached the iron gates of Valley Crest Golf Club. Exactly the type of place I hated on principle with its manicured lawns, hushed tones, and the faint smell of inherited wealth.
“Okay, circle the lot,” I instructed, scanning the perimeter.
Paul crept along the rows.
“I don’t see it,” Michelle said, disappointment creeping in. “Maybe he parked somewhere else.”
“Keep going,” I urged, skimming the far end near a row of overgrown hedges. And then I saw her. Tucked away at the veryback like a dirty little secret the other cars were pretending not to know. Faded paint, a mismatched fender, and a dramatic lean to the driver’s side.
A beautiful, glorious piece of junk.
“There,” I breathed, pointing. “That’s her.”
Michelle leaned forward, following my finger. When she spotted the truck, a grin split across her face. “Oh wow. She has not improved with age.”
“Nope.” I beamed. “Holding together out of pure spite.”
Paul looked between us, unimpressed, pulling alongside the hedges before putting the car in park. “I just have to ask—are we sure this thing is worth stealing? I could find you a nicer one at the junkyard for twelve bucks.”
“Paul, mind your mouth,” Michelle scolded, all faux innocence. “Scott lost his virginity in that thing. Of course it’s worth it.”
I glanced at her—her eyes were sparkling with that familiar, reckless friskiness I’d fallen for on day one.
