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He looks more than confused. “A bee did that to you?”
Strangely, in that second, I think of Finn. Had I said those words to Finn, he would have understood my wit immediately, and likely would have come back with an equally witty retort. Nick, on the other hand, was not joking with his remark. The banter is just not there between us, which only cements in my mind who I prefer spending time with.
“It’s a long story,” I say, swiping my hand. I can’t be bothered explaining it. Funnily enough, Nick doesn’t press to know more, which tells me something else about him. He asked out of politeness, rather than any real concern.
Hmm.
He pulls away from the sidewalk and continues in the direction I was going. He’s telling me about returning to the city and all the trouble coming out to Sharon Springs has been when I notice we’re turning in the wrong direction for the Brecken’s house.
“I think you’re going the wrong way,” I say, interrupting him.
“No. It’s okay. I just remembered I have to pick something up. It’s only a little detour,” he explains.
He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay with the detour, but it looks like we’re going, at any rate.
As he continues to drive, he continues to talk. It’s just a repeat of the coffee shop, with him talking at me, and me listening without having the chance to offer much input. I wonder, as I pretend to listen to him going on, why I agreed to this lift in the first place. We’ve been driving for about twenty minutes when we pass a sign that tells me we’re entering another town, a place called Cherry Valley.
Where are we going?
Calm down, Emma, and just enjoy the ride. You don’t have any pressing things to rush back for.
Of course, I don’t. But neither do I like not knowing what is going on.
“It’s just down here,” Nick says, slowing down and pulling up in front of a bar.
“What’s just down here?” I ask, trying hard not to sound a little terse.
“Where I’m meeting my friend.”
“What?” I turn and glare at him
He laughs at me. “Jeez, Emma. Chill. I’m picking something up from my friend, and I told him I’d meet him here. Why are you being so crazy?”
Was I being crazy? Was I overreacting? Yes. Maybe I was. Just a little. Still, Nick ought to have told me his plans before I got into the car. If I’d known we were driving to another town, I’d have carried on walking.
“You want to come in?” he asks. He’s grinning but still looking at me like I’m a little high-strung.
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine here,” I reply.
He puts his hands up. “Okay. My bad. I should have mentioned that I was going to head out here. I’m sorry. To be honest, I didn’t really think it through. I saw you walking, and then I thought of offering you a lift. It was only when I pulled away that I remembered what I had been doing in the first place. But that doesn’t matter. I should’ve told you.”
How could I argue with that? He did look and sound sorry. And now, I feel like a fool for acting like a spoiled brat. “It’s fine,” I say, sounding a little calmer. “I just didn’t know what was happening.”
“I know,” he says in the same apologetic tone. “Come inside with me, Emma. I don’t know the exact time he’s going to arrive, and he might be running a bit behind.”
I sigh, then nod. “All right.” I might as well be in there around other people, rather than stuck out here in this car all by myself.
The bar is dark, with few windows. For an afternoon, it’s pretty packed, though. Clearly, people in America finish off the week in the same way people in England do—by heading out to the bar for a drink to start the weekend. There’s music coming from a brightly lit jukebox in the corner, and I can hear the loud clacking of balls smashing together as a few people across the bar play pool.
Nick settles at the bar, gesturing for me to sit beside him. He then waves the bartender over and orders two beers. I’m a little surprised, but I probably shouldn’t be. We are in a bar, after all. He sees my expression and smiles at me teasingly. “We might as well have one while we’re waiting,” he says.
He lifts his beer and guzzles it thirstily. I take hold of my bottle, but I only take a sip. I turn to look around the bar, wondering what Nick’s friend looks like. I’m also wondering how long he’s going to be. When I turn back to the bar, Nick is waving at the barman again.
“We’ll take another two,” he calls over.
Eyeing his bottle, I see it’s empty. How on Earth had he downed that so quickly? More to the point, why is he ordering two more? I haven’t even touched mine yet. I’m beginning to get a strange feeling in my gut that something is off. I know I’ve only met this guy twice before, but this just feels all wrong.
When the next two beers are placed on the bar, Nick lifts the fresh beer and guzzles it like he did the first. He then turns to me. “Do you want to get some food?”
