AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No way! That’s only song number four.”
She just bats my hand away from the dial and spins it until she finds a rock station. “See? Isn’t that better?”
I grumble at her and try to hide my grin.
I should be having a miserable time. The weather’s still utter shit. We finally made it through New York State only to hit a traffic snarl in Erie, Pennsylvania, and now we’re detouring from I-90, which takes us deeper into Ohio and adds an hour to our trip on top of the already slow pace from the snow-packed roads and occasional wind gusts. My back and shoulders are on fire from the stressful driving I’ve been doing, and since we didn’t add Birdy to the rental agreement as an additional driver back at the airport, she’s technically stuck being a passenger only.
But all things considered, I’m having a great time. Something about sleeping next to each other has thawed the ice between us, even if we did stay on our separate sides of the mattress all night long.
“I can’t believe you nixed ‘Feliz Navidad,” I say, shaking my head sadly.
“‘Feliz Navidad’ is the worst Christmas song known to man.” She juts out her cute little chin, and I risk taking my hand off the wheel again to point an accusatory finger at her.
“First, ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ is the worst Christmas song known to man,” I tell her. “And second, this means you only get four of your pop drivel before I get to turn it back, not five.”
She crosses her arm over her chest as I change the terms of our radio-sharing agreement. “I can’t believe I ended up in a car with a Christmas guy on December 22nd.” Then she leans forward to peer out the window, her brow furrowed. “Is it my imagination or are the roads getting bad again?”
Although she hasn’t outright said anything, Birdy’s a bit of a nervous traveler.
“Nah.” I slant her my cockiest smile. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”
She purses her lips. “You’re only a professional in the air, captain.”
Fuck, I shouldn’t love it when she calls mecaptain, but I do. And now I’m wishing she’d known about my title two nights ago because something tells me she absolutely would’ve called me that in bed.
Wait, nope. Bad. Thinking about that night is the wrong move.
Yet what do I do next? I growl out, “I do just fine on land too, thanks,” and she blushes.
All of a sudden, it’s like someone threw a switch inside the car and ignited an electric current between us. This is the insane chemistry I felt at Lizzie’s Tap. This is why I agreed to take her back to my hotel. In that moment at the bar, Birdy wasn’t a stranger. She was the other half of me that I recognized from across the distance. And her pretty blush now is warming a place in my chest that’s been empty for a long, long time.
I can almost see the sparks crackling between us, and I want to cling to it, want to keep this livewire current between us alive. And I’m almost certain she’s thinking about our night together too because she dives into the snack bag at her feet and pulls out an orange. “Citrus break?”
Her voice is maniacally chipper, and she’s clearly trying to change the subject. But I don’t fight it. This line of conversation isn’t going to lead anywhere; we’re just getting to the outskirts of Akron, which means if things go smoothly from here, I can drop her at the train station in a little over six hours, and I’ll be at my parents’ in time for eggnog and Hallmark movies. She and I will never see each other again.
The thought causes a weird little swoop in my stomach, and when she says, “Hand,” I obediently turn my palm up so she can deposit a pile of orange slices into it. She insists on peeling them for me so I’m not distracted while I’m driving, as if her pressing fruit into my hand with her deft fingers isn’t distracting enough.
I chew a few slices before I say, “Christmas guy. You called me that before. What is that exactly? Because the way you say it, it doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
She gives a musical little laugh. “Oh, you know. AChristmasguy.Decorates the weekend after Halloween. Wishes he could listen to the music year-round. Owns unironic holiday sweaters.” She wrinkles her nose at the thought. It’s adorable, so I play along.
“Hmm. Well I limit myself to December for the music, and my sweater collection’s magnificent.” I scratch the back of my neck and notice the way her eyes follow the curve of my biceps while I do. Thank you, short sleeves and high core-body temp. “But I don’t really decorate my apartment since I spend Christmas with my folks.”
“So Detroit? Why there?” she asks.
I shouldn’t be flattered that she remembers where I live.
“It’s a junior base for my airline, so that’s where I started, and I never bothered to move.” At her confused look, I explain, “It’s easier for new pilots to get positions at junior bases. But I’m senior enough now that I could request a transfer.”
“So why not move to Chicago? Or did you put down roots in Michigan?”
She’s turned in her seat to face me, and while I can’t really take my eyes off the slippery roads, I can feel the weight of her gaze on me.
“I like Detroit. My neighborhood, my apartment, my friend group.” I tap my thumbs on the wheel as I get my thoughts in order. “But yeah, I would like to move closer to my family someday. I always thought…” The rest of it’s a little too revealing, but her patient silence makes me finish the thought. “I guess I always thought I’d move back home when I settled down and got married.”
“You’re planning to woo a Michigander to Illinois?”
“Well. I’ve never found anyone worth persuading. And believe me, I’ve looked.”
