“Don’t you dare let go of my hand, Daze.”
Pressing my lips together, I looked away so he couldn’t see my smile.
We didn’t make it out of Addison limits before the song switched to a different one on his playlist. The intense beginning was awildshift, and I almost didn’t place the song at first, since the intro was long. When I recognized it, I laughed aloud. “Why isIt’s All Coming Back to Me Nowby Céline Dion on your playlist?”
Jamie’s cheeks were pink. “N-No clue.”
“You’re such a bad liar.” I twisted up the dial just as Céline started singing her first line, and I couldn’t help but join in with her, but with more flourish. The thought of Jamie rocking out to Céline Dion made me laugh even harder, but in a way, it was also soJamie. He wasn’t into rap or rock or even pop music.
No, he apparently dug 50-something-year-old Canadian singers with an insane vocal range.
I held my phone to my lips like a microphone when the chorus picked up, dramatically leaning into the melody. Jamie pointedly ignored me, instead squinting through the windshield as if he was in the convertible alone.
I shifted my phone in front of his face. “Sing with me!” I told him, cutting through the song.
“I don’t sing.”
“You said don’t dance either, and yet I distinctly remember what it felt like to dance with you.”
Vividly. And judging by the look that passed across Jamie’s expression, he distinctly remembered it, too. His hand tightened ever so slightly in my own.
The music suddenly swelled, and I took that moment to pretend to be swept up in the song. Surely it wasn’t only Jamie flushing now. It was definitely me, too.
And then, with faint words that almost were carried away in the wind, Jamie began to sing with me. Or, really, hespokethe words—he really did try his hardest to siphon all musical quality from them—but excitement burst through me at the win. I twisted the volume dial up further, feeling the speaker near my feet vibrate with the effort to pump the sound out.
Jamie’s voice got louder, too, but now his singing was tinged with the musical sound of his laughter. It was hard enough that the amusement split across his face, creasing his cheek with that dimple.
This was yet another thing I loved about Jamie. The way our laughter bled together over the silliest things, like driving down the road, top down on the convertible, pretending like we could sing as well as Céline Dion. Jamie would resist, but he’d end up caving to my antics every single time. Dancing with me. Singing with me. Having fun with me. He could make me forget any of thedarkness swelling in me, and I could make him smile like he hadn’t done it in years.
I loved that I was the one who got to see that smile.
Jamie slowed for a stop sign, the last one before we left the city of Addison, and as soon as the car stopped, I stretched across the console. I laid my palm against his cheek to turn his head toward me, taking the advantage to press a deep kiss to his lips.
He hadn’t been expecting it, judging by the sharp breath he drew in through his nose, but he immediately melted into me, his hand tightening around my own. He chased my kiss with one of his own, lips a firm and heart fluttering pressure.
And then the convertible jerked as his foot slipped a little on the brake.
I fell back into the passenger seat with a wild laugh, pulse thumping hard in my throat. “Careful,” I teased, bringing our hands up and laying his knuckles against my warm cheek. “If you crash Beck’s car, he’ll kill you.”
“No, Ms. Jennings will kill me.” Jamie cleared his throat, and when I glanced over, I saw that his skin had grown pink again. I absolutely loved it. “And then you’ll be boyfriendless. All because you kissed me.”
“Well, we can’t have that.”
Jamie checked both ways, but before he lifted his foot from the brake, he turned to me again. “One more,” Jamie begged, stretching over.
A happy little thrill raced through me, and I pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Love you.”
My happiness reflected in Jamie’s face, pressing a little indent into his cheek. “I love you.”
And with that, Jamie eased away from the stop sign, taking us on our adventure.
NELLIE
“Think of it this way,” I murmured to Beck, combing my fingers through the silky strands of his hair as we sat cuddled together in the hammock in my backyard. “If he crashes the car, your aunt will killhim. Not you.”
Beck’s arm was tucked underneath my neck, and his other hand delicately traced shapes into the skin of my arm. “No, she’ll kill us both. She’ll probably kill you, too.”
“Me?”
