When I get back into the car thirty minutes later, I have an apology on the tip of my tongue.
Instead of the irritated “what took you so long” I anticipated, he smiles and starts the car. “I looked up some books on my Libby app. You’ll have to tell me where to start.” He hands me his phone.
I shoot him a sidelong glance and take it. I scan the screen and gape at him. “You looked up romance novels?”
He nods and then turns his attention to the rearview image. “I’ll pick a few of my favorites,” I tell him as I scan the titles.
I buckle in but feel vulnerable as hell as we make our way back to my parents. Taking an interest in the things I care about is a cheat code for earning my devotion. And he has a library card. I try to focus on the task at hand and keep my giddiness at bay.
Oh Lord, why do you have to tempt me so?
“So, do you not like driving?” he asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“I get road rage, especially in Arlington. I prefer being a passenger.” I glance over at him.
He’s smiling like I just told him a secret. “Now that I know that, next Sunday, I’ll bring my tandem extender and you can ride with me.”
“Never.” I snort, and we share a laugh. I glance out of the window. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and I realize it’s a beautiful day and roll it down. I open my music app and then the rest of what he said registers. I snap my head in his direction. “Wait, did you say next time?”
“Oh, your mother said you all have a family meal together every Sunday and invited me to join. I said yes.”
I sit up. “You didn’t have to say yes. And you don’t have to come. If they weren’t my family, I wouldn’t give up my Sundays.”
“That’s easy to say when you get to see them so often.”
“I do miss sleeping in, going out to a boozy brunch I didn’t have to make. Binge-watching Britbox until my favorite Thai delivery arrives.” I close my eyes and smile. But the recitation of my former life doesn’tspark a sense of nostalgia. It sounds hollow, lonely. And the truth is, on most Sundays, I was working and cleaning up after the slob I used to live with.
“What are your Sundays like that you’re so willing to give them up?”
He shrugs. “I usually just do laundry, catch up on work, run, get takeout and early bed. It was nice to be with…family today.”
“Even after the melodrama with Mae?”
“They’re nice. It’s clear you love each other.”
The affection in his voice makes me smile. “I complain about them but I do love them and no one has my back like they do. Leaving New York was a lot easier because I was coming home,” I admit.
“So…when did you and your almost fiancé break up?”
“April sixteenth.”
His eyes narrow. “The day after we met?” he asks and glances toward me.
“Yeah.”
“So… I made an impression.”
I roll my eyes. “It was already in the works, but meeting you did a lot to clarify things.”
He smirks. “I heard multiple orgasms can have that effect in women.”
“We both know you turned me out. Stop gloating,” I snap.
He holds up a hand. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t realize you were still in your feelings about it. I’ll leave it alone.”
“I’m not in my feelings,” I mutter and look out at charming bungalows that line the street leading to my parents’ house for a minute. When he doesn’t respond, I sigh in resignation. “Okay, I guess I am,” I admit. “Honestly, I’m thrown that you’re here.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, me too.”
