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I laugh. “Not unless you want me to jolt every time it thunders. How about we talk? What's your favorite animal?”
“Hmm. I've always thought those white tigers were cool.”
“They're beautiful,” I agree. “Would you ever want a pet?”
“Eventually, maybe. My mom would tell me it was good I couldn't have a dog because it was like having a kid. There's so much responsibility that comes with a pet. Feeding, grooming, medical checkups, and if you go on a trip, you have to find someone to take care of him while you're gone. So, maybe after college, I'd think about getting a dog.”
When I start spouting off different kinds of dogs I think will be a good fit for him, he smiles and lets me carry on while he listens.
“Can you play an instrument?” I ask next.
“I played the trumpet in middle school, but decided I didn't want to be in the marching band in high school, so I quit. Can you?”
I shake my head. “I have no concept of beat or rhythm. I doubt I could play well. How come you didn't continue to play baseball in college?”
“I could have, but baseball took up a lot of time in high school and I knew it would be the same or more in college. I wanted to focus on school and have all the free time I wanted. Plus, I've never wanted to play professionally, so that helped make it an easy decision.”
We continue talking and I almost forget about the storm. When things seem to calm down, I dash to the bathroom for a quick shower, ignoring Emerson's laughter. He showers next while I fix us a light lunch. Afterward, the rain is sprinkling, so we decide to go to the grocery store.
Emerson holds my hand while I hold the little basket. We walk to the meat section first. He studies the meats like it's a test and he's looking for a specific answer to a question. Suddenly, like it's never occurred to me before, I realize we're a couple. We're shopping for groceries together. Sure, it's only one meal's worth and maybe some more drinks, but still.
“I feel like we've reached a legit couple status now.”
He glances at me with a raised brow before picking up a pack with two ribeye steaks. “You didn't feel like we were a couple before?”
“No, I did. But look at us.” I lift our joined hands and move them between us and around the store. “We're shopping together.” My revelation is completely lost on Emerson. I can tell by his blank expression. “What do you usually eat with steak?” I ask, deciding to let it go.
“Baked potato, but you're in charge of sides, so whatever you want.”
“No, that sounds perfect.” We pick up two potatoes and anything else he's missing that we'll need. We checkout and get back into the truck. After a quick stop by the campus so I can grab more clothes, we're heading home. I glance over at him as he backs out of our parking space. “Would you ever let me drive Sweet Irene?” I ask curiously.
He looks alarmed and I try to hold back my laughter. He does not want me behind the wheel of his truck. “Why would you want to drive her?”
I'm pleased he doesn't say what he's thinking, which is a clear no. “I don't know. What if something was wrong with my car and I needed to go somewhere and you couldn't drive me?”
His lips dip in a frown. “I guess if that was the situation, then I'd let you.”
“So only if you didn't have any other choice?” I'm more amused than annoyed.
“Don't you know what they say about women driving trucks? They can't do it well. Have you ever driven one before?” I shake my head. I've never driven anything bigger than my car. “Between that and the fact that you've already damaged the poor girl, I would be hesitant to let you drive her,” he admits. “Especially without supervision.”
I laugh. “It's not like it's a stick shift. How hard can be it to get used to a bigger size?”
“Hard enough that some women who drive them every day still can't park the damn things.” I roll my eyes at him, but don't say anything else. Who knew Emerson would be the type to be stereotypical when it comes to women and trucks. When he pulls into the apartment complex, he sighs heavily. “If you really wanted to drive Sweet Irene, I would let you, Eva.”
My grin is stupid and huge. He wouldn't want to, but if I asked, he would let me drive his truck. He must really love me. My train of thought comes to a halt as I realize what I thought. Does he love me? Do I love him? “It was only hypothetical,” I tell him, not ready to answer those questions without being half scared and half excited.
He leans over and kisses me softly. “Either way, I'd let you, and judging by the smile on your face, that was a good answer.”
“The best,” I tell him before we get out, grabbing the bags and heading inside.
We work together to put the groceries away. Most of the day wastes away as we watch TV together until it's time for dinner. We haven't done anything special today, yet I feel as if we have. Simply spending time with him is as good as if we had gone out and done something. While we're making dinner, I try to picture a future for us.
Emerson would do most of the cooking, and I'd help clean up. Our bed would always look odd because it would be divided with two comforters, mine on the right and his on the left. I'd disappear on Sundays to give him time with the guys to watch football. Our home would be full of laughter and smiles because it's so easy to make Emerson do those things. He would kiss me in the mornings before he left and in the afternoons when he came home.
We would have a dog, so his life would be a little less tragic. We'd take care of each other. He would never let me go. He would love me with all the parts of himself without a doubt. Life with him would be amazing and so worth any troubles that would come our way.
Wow, I can map out our entire future.
