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Keep driving. She’s not your problem. She’ll get wet, but she’ll survive.
Traffic moves, and instead of following it, I swerve gently toward the sidewalk and throw open my passenger-side door in time to accidentally scare the shit out of her.
My tone is more annoyed than I would like when I tell her to get in.
Emelia’s wide eyes sweep back to where she came from and then ahead, as if assessing her options.
A car behind me lays on its horn.
“Get in, Emelia.”
She flinches at my tone before closing her umbrella and climbing in. She manages to get water everywhere in the process.
“I’m sorry” is the first thing she says as she closes the door and buckles her seatbelt. At first, I think she’s apologizing for the water, but maybe she’s apologizing for not listening to me the first time I told her to get into my car.
“Why were you walking?” I ask as I merge back into traffic.
The cacophony of horns that joined in after the first one finally goes silent.
“I always walk.”
“Next time, call an Uber,” I say gruffly.
“Next time, I’ll do exactly as I please.”
Her whispered retort doesn’t diffuse the situation. She should know better by now.
She’s facing the passenger window, her body leaning as far away from me as possible. She won’t give me her face, and I’m repressing the urge to demand she look at me. All day, I’ve wanted to see her, and now that I finally have the chance, she won’t let me.
“You’re soaking wet.”
“If you’re worried about your car, I’ll pay to have it detailed.”
She shivers and I switch on the heat, making sure the vent is pointed toward her.
“Did you not check the weather today?”
“I didn’t think it would be so bad. If you’re going to keep on like this, just let me out here. I’ll walk the rest of the way home.”
I make a point to ensure the doors are locked, and I swear the side of her mouth curves up in a private smile.
Emelia, you seduce me with nothing more than that, a half-hidden, barely there smile.
I squeeze the steering wheel tighter then turn down the music, annoyed by the slow sad song that’s playing.
A few moments pass and I think we’ll slip into silence, but she shifts slightly, allowing me a glimpse of her profile. I peer over to see her inspecting her surroundings.
“You have a very nice car.”
“Resorting to flattery?”
“Just trying to make polite conversation. We’ve never done it. I wanted to see if it’s possible.”
“It’s not.”
Politeness is not in my wheelhouse.
“So then silence it is? Fine. You can pretend I’m not even here.”
