I smiled, pushing down the odd burst of fondness I felt over his research.
“We didn’t get to do this much. The amusement park thing. The closest we got was the local fair and even then I had to push myself to keep up with her. She’s always been braver than I am. Zenobia, though, is a lot. I’d never ride that.” I paused,watching giddy strangers pass by. A group of teenagers. A couple with that obvious fresh love glow. A father with his young daughter on his shoulders. “Our dad would’ve been up there with her.”
Dex remained quiet. This was too personal for his taste, but I needed to say it out loud, offer someone else this vision of my dad, like that would keep him here somehow.
Sidestepping the heaviness, I added, “But at least I can admit I’m afraid.”
Dex’s jaw clenched. “I’m not an amusement park guy.”
“Shocking. With the button-up and leather shoes, you fit in so well,” I said. He combed his fingers through his hair, ignoring this. “What kind of guyareyou? Or is that too personal?”
“What does it matter?”
“You are currently chauffeuring my fourteen-year-old sister and me across the country,” I reminded him. He tilted his head slightly, acknowledging my point. I went on, “It’s fine if you don’t want to be friends. But until we’re back in Boston, we’re gonna be civil. Civility requires the bare minimum and the bare minimum here is a conversation.”
“Look around,” he said. “We took a detour four hours into the trip. I am obviously at your mercy.”
My cheeks burned under the Brooklyn sun and Dex’s sharp gaze. I forced a smile and said, “If that were true, having a conversation with you wouldn’t feel like trying to talk down one of my third graders.”
The smirk briefly reappeared, sending a not-unpleasant buzz down my limbs. I cleared my throat and glanced toward the line, ensuring Phoebe was still there.
“Why third grade?” Dex asked. I looked at him, eyebrows raised. He’d yet to volunteer any information about himself, but information about me was fair game, apparently.
“It’s a good age. They’re old enough to read, too old for bathroom accidents and nose picking.”
“Ah.” He climbed to his feet. “I’m gonna grab a water. Do you want one?”
“Yes please.”
I watched him go, breathing in the stench of buttery popcorn. He returned with three waters, casting the Zenobia line a quick glance, realizing Phoebe had only moved forward two paces. I thanked him, ignoring the strange fizzle in my chest over the third bottle, presumably for my sister.
“I guess I understand why third grade,” he said. I didn’t realize we were picking up where we left off. “It’s the elementary thing that stumps me.”
I grinned. “You’re not a kid person? But you’resogood with them.”
His thumb scraped at the label of his water. “I like kids. I work with kids. But I have no interest in taking a major role in molding their minds.”
“I get it. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” I said, to which he widened his eyes as if to sayNo shit. “I didn’t know I wanted to teach until Phoebe. I helped raise her. I helped teach her how to read. I witnessed her milestones and I got to feel the same pride my dad felt… It was magical. I realized how much I loved guiding her and watching her learn and it snowballed from there.”
“That’s touching,” he said. “How often do you get sick?”
“Not that often.”
“I need numbers.”
“Oh, sorry. I left the graph at home.”
“Is it constant? I went out with a children’s librarian once and she said she was perpetually congested. She sounded like a cartoon mouse.”
My laugh surprised us both; I’d been previously unaware Dex was capable of pleasant conversation, let alone humor, and his eyes sparked as if he liked the sound of it before he blinked away, taking a pull from his water. Life had been a bit too touch and go for my three things to carry weight lately, and now a new list took up the empty space: Three Things I Like About Dex. He bought Phoebe a water bottle without prompting. He researched pit stops even if he didn’t want to take them. He showed remote interest in my job and, vaguely, me.
Maybe it wasn’t much, but it calmed the storm inside me. If I could keep adding to the list, this trip might not be a catastrophic mistake.
“Sounds like a her problem,” I said with a smile. “I get one or two colds throughout the school year.”
“That’s one or two too many.”
“You’re full of it.”
