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“More than that!”
“Woman,” he groaned, adding some more. “Does this suffice?”
“That’s better,” I eyed the amount in his hand.
After I was sure that every germ on our hands had been killed, I followed him up the stairs, careful not to touch the railing, and outside.
I dug sunglasses out of my bag and put them on.
“Which way do we go?” I asked.
“Give me a second,” he muttered, looking for a map. When he found one, he studied it for a moment before saying, “This way.”
I had to jog to keep up with his long-legged stride. “Slow down,” I pleaded. “I’m short.”
“Sorry,” he chuckled.
“Thanks,” I croaked when he slowed. “My throat hurts from all the singing,” I groaned. The whole drive here, we’d been singing along, non-stop, to Trace’s road trip playlist.
“That’s because you don’t sing enough. You should change that. Your voice is beautiful,” he mused.
“You’re only saying that to be nice,” I rolled my eyes.
He stopped, grabbing my arm to halt me. “Olivia, I would never lie to you. It’s not a part of my personality. If I thought you sounded like a dying cow, I’d tell you. I’m honest like that.”
“That’s so comforting,” I snorted.
“It should be,” his lips spread into a smile. “Now come on,” he took my hand, “we have to hurry so we don’t miss the ferry.”
“Ferry?” I squeaked. “You mean we have to get on a boat thing?”
“Um, yeah,” he looked at me peculiarly. “Is that a problem?”
I gulped. “I—um—get really sea sick.”
He chuckled. “You mean to tell me, that you’re not afraid of heights, but a boat is what gets your stomach in knots. Interesting.”
“It’s a legitimate illness!” I complained. “One time, we went on a fishing trip when I was younger, and I spent the whole time throwing up over the side of the boat.”
“Olivia,” he said my name calmly, “it’s the Statue of Liberty. It needs to be appreciated up close. Not from far away.”
I shook my head rapidly back and forth. “No, no. I can’t do it.”
He eyed me for a moment. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder caveman style.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him, walking away. “You’re not getting me on that boat—ferry thing.”
“How did you think we got to the statue if you didn’t know we had to take the ferry?” He asked, fighting a smile.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I never thought about it. But I’m not getting on the ferry.”
I was already nauseous at the thought. I spotted a bench and snagged a seat, breathing deeply in and out, hoping to settle my rolling stomach.
“Olivia?” Trace questioned, squatting in front of me, his hands on my knees. “Are you okay?”
“Give me a minute,” I warned him, taking another deep breath.
Anyone that had never experienced motion sickness of any sort would think I was crazy, but just the thought of stepping on a ferry had me feeling sick. I couldn’t do it.
