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“No,” I replied, then started the car and pressed play on the radio. “This is not how it usually goes.”
Nat King Cole's voice filled the car. She tilted her head in agreement with the music choice and visibly relaxed. Her expression softened a bit, and she started to hum along.
“You like jazz music too?” she asked.
I arched a brow. “Are you surprised?”
“Where are you taking me?” she returned to her original line of questioning, showing she still felt uneasy riding with me. “I feel like kicking you below the belt right now.”
I laughed.
“That’s quite a strange fantasy,” I grinned. “If I had my way I would take you over my knees and spank your cute ass,” I said.
She looked away and brought her phone out of her bag.
“Put the phone away,” I said.
“What?”
“I don’t like people talking over music. Music is to be enjoyed.”
"You are impossible," she said and started typing on her phone. “I’m texting Joe to let him know you’ve kidnapped me.”
I threw back my head and laughed. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time, and it felt good when she giggled a little.
“What makes you like jazz?” I asked.
“My daddy,” she replied, and her gaze went blank.
When I Fall in Love started to play, and loneliness crept into her eyes as if she was remembering an old memory.
“When I fall in love, it will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love,” she sang along with the track, and the sweetest soulful sounds flowed from her soft lips. I was amazed at how good she sounded singing along with Nat King Cole.
“In a restless world like this, love is ended before it’s begun,” I joined her, and she stopped singing. “Is that what happened to you?” I asked.
She sighed heavily. Her shoulders relaxing against the seat and her head tilted to the side so that she could stare at the cars passing by.
"That's what happened to my parents. My dad used to play that song every morning, and me and my mother would sing along."
“Are you the type of woman who gives her heart forever?” I asked.
“Are you the type of man who never falls in love and never gives his heart?” she retorted, and there her past was coming into the car and overpowering our connection. “Let’s just listen to the music and not get personal. Nat King Cole has said it all,” she said.
“Are you close to them?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Your parents.”
“No, not really. I haven’t seen them in years.”
“Do you miss them?”
"Sometimes," she said.
I drove into my driveway and parked the car. “Welcome to my humble abode!”
“Why did you bring me to your house, Ward?” Her voice once again raised an octave.
