I blow out a breath. “Okay, so back at the restaurant, when we were waiting for our entrées, there was a point where you seemed…I don’t know.” I shrug. “Kind of distracted, I guess.”
Slowly, she replies, “Um, yeah? What about it?”
Okay, so she knows exactly what I’m referring to.
I wasn’t wrong.
Something was up.
And still is.
I clear my throat, then just flat-out ask, “I was just wondering—and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—what was on your mind.”
She’s quiet for a beat, like she’s contemplating something, maybe whether to share with me or not, and then she says, “I don’t know if I should tell you what I was thinking, Lennox.”
Ugh, now I’m really intrigued.
Carefully, I ask, “Can you explain why you feel you shouldn’t say anything to me? I mean, like I told you before, you don’thaveto tell me what you were thinking about. But to be perfectly honest, I’m curious because we seem to pretty much tell each other all kinds of crazy shit.”
That makes her laugh. “Yeah, we do,” she agrees. “That’s actually probably part of the reason why I was thinking what I was back at the restaurant.”
Chuckling, I confess, “Okay, now you have me totally confused and intrigued.”
“I bet I do,” she murmurs with a snicker. “I bet I do.”
I’m convinced this is the end of that conversation, and I’m willing to let it go, but then, out of the blue, Madison waves her hand around and says, “Oh, what the hell. I’m just going to tell you.”
“Okay.” I slow down. “Should we pull off the road for this?”
“Maybe so,” she says.
Oh shit.
Is this bad?
Is it good?
There’s a dirt pull-off up ahead for trucks, so I head to it and drift into the thankfully empty lot.
After placing the Nav in Park and turning it off, I take a deep breath, release it, then, tapping my hands on the steering wheel once, say, “Hit me with it, Madison. What’s up?”
Scrunching the hem of her pretty floral sundress into her balled-up fists, she says, “Ugh, now I’m nervous to tell you.”
“Just do it,” I prod.
“All right.” Blowing out a breath, she releases the fabric in her hands and smooths down her dress. Still staring down, she says, “What I was thinking about is how I was, and am, really happy that we finally went out on a real date.”
Okay, this isn’t bad.
“Damn, I am, too, babe,” I reply. “It was fun.”
“It was, and…”
When she doesn’t continue, I say, “Go on.”
In a sudden rush of words, and still looking down at her lap, she blurts out, “Well, that got me to thinking how I really want to freakingdateyou, Lennox. Like for real. I’d love to call you my boyfriend. And, well, that’s it.”
“Wow.”
