“I thought you didn’t like walking through the woods,” Skye retorted, gazing intently into the rearview mirror.
“True, yes,” Theo said, his knees knocking against the glove compartment. “But if I’m not mistaken, your gaze possesses a somewhat villainous flair, and your Prius doesn’t have four-wheel drive. Wouldn’t it be easier to walk?”
Skye squinted as she turned her head to the back window, moved one arm to hold on to the back of his headrest, and whipped the car around his Tesla.
“Skye.” He inhaled sharply as the side mirror of his own car came into view—more specifically, came into view an inch away from hers.
He threw his shock her way. “Did you pick up getaway-car driving skills while in Seattle?”
She knocked the gearshift into drive, and the gravel beneath them sputtered as her car swerved toward the road.
Theo clutched the seat with one hand and pointed with the other. “You can’t be serious. There’s a bridge.”
Skye glanced over. “You’re trying to hit an imaginary brake. My mother does that.”
“Eyes on theroad!” With one hand pressed against the roof and the other against the passenger window, he pushed himself off his seat. His head knocked against the ceiling. The ledge of the rickety wooden bridge was all but beneath her right tire as the wheels spun. The jagged rocks in the creek below peered up at him in the glow of dawn. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Your mother is the most commonsensical person in your family,” he cried out. “Have you ever considered that she is right to question your driving skills?”
Theo felt the bump, then heard more spitting gravel, then felt his body collide into the passenger door as Skye swerved left onto the road. It took several seconds for him to lower back down into his seat and let go of the roof.
When he opened his eyes, Skye was grinning at him like a madwoman. “Good thing you were holding that roof up to protect us. Otherwise, we would’ve been goners for sure.”
“Road!” he called, clenching his teeth as they approached one of the many, many swift turns.
Skye cackled. “Theo, how many times do you think I have driven down this mountain?”
“Don’t try that on me,” he replied through gritted teeth. His grip on the passenger door was nothing short of ironclad.
He couldn’t be sure—he wasn’t willing to risk looking away from the road—but he thought he sensed her shifting. A moment later, he felt the car slow.
His grip loosened reluctantly, his hand stiff and aching. He clenched and unclenched it before folding his hands together.
For several minutes, Theo watched the trees whip by out his window. “So,” he said at last, “care to divulge where we are going?”
“Not at all.” She was pleasantly upbeat as she turned the wheel around another switchback. “We’re going to Luke’s.”
“Luke’s?” It took a moment, but then the name rang a bell. “Ah. Luke’s.”
Skye raised a finger, clearly enjoying herself too much. “That’s the one.”
So that’s what she was up to. The pieces were starting to come together.
At least now he knew the rules of this game. “I do recall meeting him that one time and receiving the rather unfortunate experience of a broken nose. Did you know that led to reconstructive surgery?”
“I did not,” Skye said, not even bothering to hide her upbeat tone as she turned the wheel.
“Which led me to miss the Mediterranean trip that was a required piece of my spring course,” Theo continued, “and as such, required that I find another class to fill its place.” He turned to her. “Only every class was full at that point. But one.”
He let the silence linger until she surrendered and turned her head his way.
“Which was?” she asked.
“Basket weaving.”
Skye barked a laugh. “I hope you got some great baskets out of it.”
“Oh yes,” Theo replied. “While my friends returned from Athens and spent the spring semester reading ancient Greek literature aloud while taste testing brizola, I sat in a circle with eighteen females under rather clangy wind chimes and labored over a basket that would end up looking like a deranged duck.For the record, it was the only class at university in which I got a C.”
Skye pressed her hand to her heart in the most unconvincing manner possible. “Oh, poor you. That must’ve been awful.”
