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“Well, I kind of can’t until you pull it out of the garage. Tight space and all.”
“Wait right there.” I take a slow, appreciative approach. “Look at you, girl,” I whisper, dragging my fingertips over the hood. I rest my cheek against the cool metal. “I missed you.”
“You’re ridiculous, Cooper. You know that, right?”
“I have no shame in my Jaguar-loving game.” I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. “That purr,” I say, rubbing her dash. She’s in mint condition. I look through the windshield at the woman standing with her hand on her hip and teasingly tapping her foot. She jokes about not selling it, but this could have brought in six figures even with depreciation. She deals with finances, so I know she understands the value. I prefer to think she kept it in great condition for me, or even for Reed, which is the same thing.
Basically, my baby took care of both my babies.
* * *
Maybe hope hasn’t flown out the window, and there’s a second chance for us.
I chuckle as she sticks out her leg and pops her thumb in the air. As soon as I pull out of the garage, Story’s opening the car door before I can put it in park and open it for her myself. She buckles in and asks, “We have all night. Where are we going?”
“I have an early shift.”
“I have an early meeting.”
The excitement fizzles. “We’re not kids anymore.”
Laughter escaping, she says, “We’re also not old enough to say we’re not kids anymore.”
Chuckling, I shift into gear. “You’re right. Hungry?”
“Depends. What are the options?”
“Gas station dog and a thirty-two ouncer?”
She leans back in her seat, angling her head toward me. “Thought you’d never ask.”
I didn’t mention the gas station was in Jersey, but Story didn’t mind. We talked about our work and lives, our favorite parks to walk, how she ate a Danish in front of Tiffany’s on 5th Avenue like Audrey Hepburn, and our Christmas spent in the hotel.
And then we rode in the car, neither of us needing to fill the silence between us.
Until I do because I’m feeling every second of this time with her, and it feels amazing. “I missed this,” I say, keeping my voice befitting the hour as we drive back to her place just before midnight.
Her head rolls left. She looks tired. “Driving your car?”
“No.” I glance over at her again, starting to struggle myself.
I lose her attention as she turns forward, her gaze lengthening through the windshield. “Me too.”
Trapped in a car is probably not the best time to bring up certain topics, but I’m tired and don’t want to play games with her. “Reed told me he thought I was your boyfriend because he overheard you say you love me.”
Her mouth opens, and her finger rises, then it closes, and she lowers her finger. She finally huffs. “I did say that, Cooper. I was telling Lila that I was so in love with you, referring to, you know . . .” Her voice goes quiet. “Back in college. He must have overheard only part of it. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. It’s probably confusing to him.”
“He didn’t seem confused. He didn’t seem to mind at all.”
“He’s five and doesn’t understand how life works.”
Gripping the steering wheel, I say, “I do, and I was so in love with you.”
There’s no great moment shared or anything to mark this as a memory. I’m not sure if she’s pretending she didn’t hear me when her window slides down, or if she’s at a loss for words. “It mattered then, not so much now.” But I hear the disappointment in her tone and see the sadness in her eyes.
“We don’t have to be left in the past just because it’s been that way.”
Her head is already shaking before I get the words out. “I can’t risk being hurt.”
“Everything’s a risk. Being in this car right now is a risk, but you’re still sitting here with the wind blowing on you. You’re tasting the freedom of escaping the city—”
“But I did that in the safety of the vehicle with a seat belt keeping me secure.”
Reaching over, I take her hand and hold it on the console. “Can’t you see? You did that in the safety of us because we were secure.”
“We were breakable, which is why we broke.” She breaks our hold and rests her hand on her lap.
“I’m not accepting that bullshit anymore.”
Offense widens her eyes, and her mouth drops open. “You’re not accepting what?”
“We got a raw deal, Story, the short end of the fucking stick when it came to our relationship.” I pull up to a red light and stop. Looking at her, I say, “We deserved better. We deserve a second chance.”
“A second chance?” At least she didn’t scoff, but less shock and more happiness would have been preferable. The light turns green, but I sit there, refusing to take my eyes off her.
