I pause for a second, distracted by June sliding her arm across my back and slipping her hand into my back pocket. “Uh,” I clear my throat, “he was nice to Loki.”
Rupert chuckles. “And you?”
“Rupert,” Callie says, shaking her head at him like a silent scolding. “He did us a favor. Let’s not be mean.”
“I’m not being mean. But the guy is strange. Just ask Hubert and Carolyn. They say he’s a recluse.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Callie says. “Lenny is shy when it comes to people. His parents love him just the same. He just needs a girl like June to bring him out of his shell and make him more of a people person.”
I pull June a little closer to me. Dr. Lenny Schreiber needs something, but not June or probably anyone like her. Girls like June need guys with actual personalities.
“Are you two excited for the orchestra tomorrow?” Callie asks.
“Yes,” June says so quickly it makes Callie and Rupert laugh. Then she looks up at me with an irresistible smile and pink in her cheeks.
“We’ll get out of here, so you can get to bed,” I say.
“Thank you, again. And why don’t you take the whole day off tomorrow since you have a fun night planned.”
I’m living in their garage. Taking the day off isn’t the gift she thinks it is. But what am I supposed to say? “Thanks,” I murmur.
“Good night,” June says, removing her hand from my pocket.
“Night, kids,” Rupert says as we step out the door.
“Well, this evening didn’t go as planned,” I say as we walk hand-in-hand to my car parked on the street.
“I’m just glad Loki is okay. It was still a fun evening,” June says because she always looks at the bright side.
It might be what I love most about her. She’s light to my darkness. Everything comes to life, and I feel a different kind of hope with her.
“Because you got to play the cello?” I ask, opening her door.
She slips into the seat. “Because I was with you, silly.”
I pause before shutting her door, and she looks up at me while pulling her hair over one shoulder.
“What?” she says.
“I love you.”
Her shoulders, face, everything relaxes. I want to tell her a million times that I love her because I like how the words feel leaving my mouth when she’s looking at me. It’s as if each time, they’re pulling a little piece of something from my chest. Something physical. Something real.
“I mean it,” I say.
Her forehead tightens, and I close the door before I vomit everything all at once. As we pull onto the street, I turn on theradio to fill the silence. She loves whatever music I play, and I like watching her drum her fingers on her legs to the beat of the song or mouth the lyrics.
“We should run by your place so you can grab some clothes,” she suggests.
“What for?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping you want to stay the night with me since you don’t have work tomorrow.”
“We’ve passed my place. Do I need actual pajamas?”
She giggles. “No. I just figured you’d want clean clothes for the morning.”
“I’ll run home in the morning. Don’t you have to work?”
