The sudden burst of sound filled the car—guitars, drums, a very enthusiastic voice belting out a chorus—and Arthurjumped.
His shoulders jerked, and his head snapped left, then right, scanning the dashboard like the car had just spoken to him.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“The radio,” I said slowly. “The thing I just asked about.”
“It activated without warning.”
“I warned you. With words. And then I turned it on.”
He went very still. “It is… aggressive.”
“That’s pop music.”
“Sounds more like shouting.”
“The singer is expressing feelings.”
He stared straight ahead, jaw tight. “It does not sound… contained.”
I sighed. “It’s supposed to sound like that.”
“It’s loud.”
“I can turn the volume down.”
He shook his head. “No, I would like to… understand it.”
He listened intently, a mask of concentration settling on his face. The singer veered into the chorus again, but this time his flinch was less noticeable.
After a moment, he said, “I believe she’s angry with a man.”
“They usually are.”
He absorbed this and even tilted his head as he continued listening. After another thirty seconds, his shoulders relaxed.
“Hm,” he said. “All right. Continue.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
He shot me a curious glance. “You sound happy.”
Happy.The word landed with more impact thanit should have.
I swallowed. “I… guess I am?“ I blew out a breath. “I’ve always wanted an adventure,” I admitted. “Something more than just the ones I found in books. Something real."
His jaw tightened, not with disapproval—but with something that looked a lot like recognition.
“You deserve one,” he said.
My heart stuttered. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
Oh boy. His voice was dangerous—too warm, too sincere. I turned away before he could see how deeply it affected me.
“Do you ever think,” I said, mostly to myself, “about how meeting your favorite author would be a terrible idea?”
