“I’m in that Bronco over there,” he says, holding out his clicker. The lights flash as it unlocks.
“Myles Ford drives a Ford,” I quip, and immediately cringe inside. Just a few short hours ago I was thinking how I was playing it cool around him, and then I go and say something cheesy like that. I won’t blame him if he rescinds his offer to drive me home right here and now.
But he just laughs and says, “Come on,” and we take off at a jog through the rain.
I’m a little breathless when we get in and close the doors, and Myles twists around to reach into the back seat. He straightens back up with a beach towel that he hands me. “Here. Might be a little sandy, but at least it’s dry.”
“Thanks.” I wipe down my arms and squeeze out my hair, then hand it over.
He does the same with his arms and swipes the towel across his hair with one hand. “Man, I love rain.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He turns on the ignition. “Always have.”
“I’m the exact opposite. I want sun, sun, and more sun,” I say, and circle my hand in front of my face. “Obviously.”
He tips his head at me, confused.
“All the freckles,” I explain, and even though I don’t mind them, it sort of comes out like I’m not a fan.
“Ah,” Myles says, twisting to look behind him as he backs out of his spot. “You know, I’ve always thought freckles are cute on girls.”
He says it in a sort of general, offhanded way, so I don’t think he meant anything by it—but still. Myles thinks freckles are cute, which means he might thinkmineare cute?
Oh. My. God.
It’s quiet for a moment as he weaves through the parking lot, and it hits me what a small, confined space I’m in with Myles Ford. He seems long and large sitting beside me, legs stretched out and one hand on the steering wheel. He runs the other through his hair, then reaches forward to fiddle with the radio. It smells like Myles multiplied by a hundred in here, bottled up into a concentrate. If I weren’t so worried he might notice, I’d inhale a deep lungful.
But wait, does that mean he can smell me, too? I panic, wondering if my quick swipe of deodorant this morning held up through my shift. I surreptitiously tuck my chin to my right shoulder, like I’m scratching an itch, and take a whiff. Thankfully, all I catch is the faint notes of vanilla.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Oh, right. I’m out in Pine Cove,” I say, and give him the exact address.
He must know the area, because he says, “Wow, I didn’t realize you lived so close to the water. That’s awesome.”
“The house has been in my family forever. It’s old, so we’re always fixing something, but the location’s worth it.”
“I bet.”
“Where do you live?” I ask, as if I don’t already know.Hedoesn’t know that I know he’s further inland like Kat, because she saw him and his brothers leaving their house once while she was on a run. She adjusted her route so she passed their place on the regular after that. The area’s thickly wooded andespecially gorgeous this time of year, with all the green trees surrounding the large colonial-style homes that are at least twice the size of mine.
“Way in the other direction, by Main and Seventh.”
I nod with interest, like this is completely new information.
It’s quiet again, and I don’t want it to descend into awkwardness—lest I blurt out something random and embarrass myself—so I ask, “Are you doing anything fun this summer?”
“My whole family’s going to California in August to help Matt get settled. We’re gonna stay for a while and do some of the touristy stuff around LA.”
“That sounds cool,” I say. “Where’s he going to college?”
“USC.”
“Oh, wow.” I’ve heard of that one, and it seems impressive. Good at all the sports stuff, I think? “Where do you want to go?”
He shrugs, a strange expression passing across his face. “I’m not really sure yet.”
