She swallowed and rallied. “Ask away.”
“What do you think pumpkin spice is?”
Her whole face transformed into pure delight. “Delicious.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Not you, too.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those snobs who’s too good for pumpkin.”
“There’s no pumpkin!” I cried, still laughing.
She knocked my shoulder with hers. “Well, no shit, Chef Ramsay.”
Oh, no she did not. I was about to launch into a diatribe when Chelsea announced, “There’s my car. You want a ride home?”
Again, no hesitation. “That would be great.”
Any way to keep talking to her.
As I settled into the passenger seat, she handed me her phone, map open, and I typed in my address, tempted to cross a boundary and text myself so I’d have her number.
Instead, I set the phone on the dash and hoped she’d share that in her own time.
I buckled my seat belt, determined to use the ride to get to know her better. “Where exactly do you live?”
The engine started, and she glanced back to reverse out of the parking space. “Belmont.”
That wasn’t very informative. Belmont sprawled for a square mile south of the Downtown Mall.
I tried a new tack. “So what do you do?”
“I’m a graphic designer for websites.”
“Cool. That sounds like an amazing career.”
“Hardly a career. I have to subsidize it with a job as a barista at a coffee shop.” She shifted into drive, and the GPS commanded her to turn onto Water Street. “It probably would be a solid career if I went ahead and took a position at a real company instead of freelancing.”
“So why don’t you?”
As she exited the parking lot, she said, “I harbor this increasingly far-fetched dream of leaving here. I want the freedom to take my job on the road.” Her eyes were fixed forward, the streetlights illuminating her face.
“A traveling graphic designer?”
“Exactly.” She threw the blinker on at the light and turned left onto Ridge.
“Why do you think it’s far-fetched?” I watched her expression tighten. “What’s stopping you?” Combining travel with work sounded exciting to me.
“Inertia? Cowardice? I don’t know. Where would I go?” She worried her lower lip, like she’d never voiced this confession to anyone else before. Did it scare her to share even this much of herself?
“Anywhere. Everywhere?”
She shot me a look like I’d unlocked a new level. “Right. How do you choose when there’s a whole world to explore?” Her gaze lingered briefly before returning to the road.
“Do you travel?”
“All the time. I have terrible wanderlust.” She reached over and rested a hand on my thigh, surprising me. Her touch gave me the first sign this might be more than a ride home and sent a jolt ofelectricity straight to my cock. “One day, I’ll go on vacation and never come home.”
Hoping I wasn’t reading her wrong, I set my hand on hers. She didn’t pull away. “Then home would be wherever you decided to stay.”
