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She’snotlikeanygirl I have ever known. Not to say I have been with a lot of girls, I don’t think I have, but she’s just . . . different. In a good way. Honestly, she’s like a breath of fresh air. Like that first gulp of air you get when you’ve been holding your breath for a while.
I look over at her now, as she rolls the window down in my truck and sticks her hand out. A small smile plays on her lips as she waves her hand up and down. She’s cute, really cute, with soft red hair and intoxicating green eyes. Her eyes were the first thing I noticed about her, they’re so bright and raw. When I look into them, I feel like she’s not hiding a single feeling, it’s all right there in the open. I like that when she’s looking at me, her eyes aren’t shrouded in pain, they’re just bright and open.
Not quite happy, but not sad either.
“I knew you’d like country music,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow at her and turn the volume on the radio down a little.
“Why do you say that?”
She shrugs. “The first time I met you were in boots and a Carhartt.”
“And that meant I automatically loved country music?”
She nods to the radio. “As soon as you started the truck Morgan Wallen was blasting. So far, we have listened to Jason Aldean, Florida Georgia Line, and Dan + Shay.”
“I would argue that Dan + Shay aren’t entirely country music.”
“Their songs are played on country music radio stations.”
“I stand by my statement.”
She laughs. “Touché.”
“Do you have something against country music?” I ask.
She crosses her arms over her chest and smirks. “No, it’s usually all I listen to.”
I laugh and shake my head—I’m starting to think she says things sometimes just to see my reaction. She smirks and pulls one leg up on the seat, loosely wrapping her arm around her knee.
“So . . .” She draws out the word a little, her eyes cutting toward me and then looking back out the window.
“So . . .” I mimic her, fighting back my smile.
“Where are we going for milkshakes?”
I can tell that wasn’t what she was originally going to ask, but I don’t press her. Instead, I smirk and roll my shoulder back.
“The best milkshake shop in town,” I reply.
“Archdale has a shop dedicated to milkshakes?”
“Didn’t say that.” I shake my head.
“I’m confused.”
She turns to face me and furrows her brow, brushing hair out of her face. I stop at a red light and glance over at her, unable to stop myself from checking her out. She’s got a small, heart-shaped face with big eyes and a small nose. Her skin looks soft, with a few freckles dotted along her cheeks, reminding me of constellations. Her bottom lip is fuller than the top, I can’t help but wonder briefly what it would be like to kiss her.
“I said we’re going to my favorite milkshake shop, but that doesn’t necessarily mean theyonlysell milkshakes,” I explain.
She hums and I wink at her, making her blush slightly. The light turns green, and I start driving again, before turning into a fast-food parking lot. Beside me, Lucy lets out a huff of laughter that makes my lips tug up at the corners.
“This is Cookout,” she says.
“It is.”
“You brought me toCookoutfor a milkshake.”
