Page 25

“Knox, you shouldn’t—”

“I could slow down and let you hop on the bus if you want?”

“Nope. I’m good. Chug along.”

We drive past the old feed store, the windows fogged from their space heater, and Mrs. Denley’s front porch decorated with a forest of scarecrows she rotates every year. The sky is still pink-gray with leftover dawn, and the scent of roasted coffee from Glazed and Confused drifts through the cracked window.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Knox twists in his seat, letting go of the wheel as I reach over to grab it for him and steer. With as often as he has to comfort the ducks and various other animals that have been in this truck, we have a system down by now. Knox’s back takes up most of the space between our seats, spine ridges tight against his white tee. “I got you your favorite.”

He twists back around and drops a light paper bag on my lap.

I don’t have to open it; from the bag and the smell alone I know exactly the magic I am holding: a glazed croissant from Glazed and Confused.

“What is going on with you?” My nose scrunches and another sniff of buttery, sweet goodness lifts me up. I swear I might melt into this seat from the smell alone.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re skipping out on work, you got me a glazed croissant, you’re not even trying to make fun of my sweater, and you haven’t once lip-synced to ‘Accidentally in Love.’”

“I love your sweaters.”

“Are you sick?”

He laughs and it almost sounds like a sarcastic one. “Why is everyone asking me that? Maybe I wanted to make sure you didn’t have to ride on the same bus that Tommy Harper lost his virginity in.” My nose twists at that, once again thankful for this ride. “And maybe I really do love that sweater. And maybe I’m not lip-syncing to Counting Crows because I want to have a conversation with you.”

I reach over and lift my wrist to his temple to check his temperature.

He swats at my hand like a newborn cat with a bell on a string. “Gah, would you stop that?”

“I’m trying to figure out what is going on with you.”

“Nothing is going on with me, geez. Next time I’ll just let you ride the metal death trap.”

Guilt creeps into my chest.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I just… You seem a little off, is all. Is this…” The dots start to align, like two numbers are left on my sudoku and I am moments away from finishing the whole puzzle. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Ohhh… Is this a practice thing? For the dating experiment?”

His body goes rigid next to me. “Uh, yeah.” He nods. “I thought that was obvious.”

Well, now I feel ridiculous.

“Oh gosh, I ruined it! Okay, pull over. I’ll hop out and we can try again.”

“I’m not pulling over.”

“At the very least, slow to a crawl and I’ll try to recreate the moment.”

“The moment’s gone, Felicity.”

I groan into my hands. “See, I can’t even recognize when we’re flirting. I should have known it was for this—you called me cute right when you pulled in.”

“I’ve called you cute before.”

“Have you?”

Certainly not any time that I can remember, not that I was keeping track or anything.

“Maybe we should have a signal or something for when we’re practicing so that way I know when to lock in.”