Will
Chapter Thirteen
Ishould’ve never put her in my truck.
But then again, it wasn’t like I had any other option. The girl was hellbent on going to the house of some creepy old man she met on the internet—as if our generation hadn’t been the first to be warned against such horrors—all in the name of saving a few bucks.
Clearly, she was severely lacking in the judgment department. I gripped the steering wheel, ignoring the way her floral scent filled the car.
She wasn’t speaking, and I was pretty sure she was pissed at me for forcing my way into chaperoning her excursion, but that didn’t matter.
I couldn’t in good faith let her go on her own. Even if I barely knew her.
Silence was comfortable, usually. It’s what I’d existed in for most of my life, especially in the years since Matthew died.
But considering that in the handful of times I’d been around this girl she’d never once stayed quiet for longer than fifteen seconds, it made the present noiselessness in the car a little unsettling.
“What’s wrong?” I looked over to my passenger seat where she sat, staring out the window.
“Nothing,” she said too quickly.
“Why are you being so quiet?”
“Because I have nothing to say.”
“That’s a first,” I muttered.
Silence filled the space between us.
I tried to turn my attention back toward the road, but damn if I didn’t keep sneaking glances at her from the corner of my eye like some creep.
She was still as a statue. Unnervingly so.
“Hey, Elsie, are you sure you’re—”
“I said I’m fine,” she snapped, frowning at me with feral ferocity.
I raised my fingers from their position on the wheel, a symbol of surrender.
And then, her stomach let out an audible growl that had all the pieces clicking into place.
I blinked. “You’re hungry?”
Her stomach groaned again in response.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
She shot me an offended look.
“Because I’m not going to ask you to stop and get food. I just want to get there and get this over with.”
I laughed under my breath, surprisingly amused by her agitation.
“What’s so funny?” She scowled, red brows furrowed so far down they looked like a cartoonist drew them on.
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I just didn’t expect you to get so vicious when you’re hangry.”
Without another word, I took the ramp to exit the highway, causing a protest from my moody passenger.
“I told you, I don’t need to stop,” she said, arms crossed over her stomach as she slouched down in her seat.
“You said we could get coffee on the way, right?” I reminded her.
Her eyes widened at the mention of caffeine, and I fought the urge to laugh again. She was too easy.
“So, we’re getting coffee,” I told her. “And, if the establishment happens to have a pastry of some sort—”
“Or a bagel?” Her green eyes widened hopefully.
“Or a bagel,” I agreed. “Then I guess there wouldn’t be any harm in picking one up, would there?”
I watched the conflict play across her face, her desire to oppose me at all costs battling against her hunger. In the end, her need for carbohydrates won.
“I guess that would be fine,” she mumbled in agreement. “As long as it’s on the way.”
“Yup.” I rolled my eyes, biting my lip to keep the amusement at bay. “Just leave it to me.”
“Oh my God, I love bagels,” Elsie groaned, barely audible through the mouthful of food.
We were back in the truck, her hands filled with a coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, and all it had taken to turn her mood around was a pumpkin iced coffee and a bagel with cream cheese.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked, watching her shift back and forth in her seat.
“Doing what?”
“Dancing with your bagel?”
She paused, staring over at me with innocent eyes. “I’m happy.”
“Jesus, that was a quick rebound.” I muttered, staring at the clock on the dashboard. “Ten minutes ago you’d been about to bite my head off, now you’re doing a happy dance?”
“Yeah, well, you fed me,” she replied, taking a generous sip of coffee. “Haven’t you ever heard not to bite the hand that feeds you?”
“I have.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure biting the head would be even worse.”
“I’d have to agree,” I said, watching her stare contentedly at her snack.
I hadn’t realized it was so easy to make a girl happy.
“Gosh,” she muttered after another bite. “I love eating a bagel on a crisp fall day with a pumpkin coffee in my hand. It feels like the epitome of autumn, don’t you think?”
I tugged my baseball cap backward onto my head before starting the ignition.
“Why are you describing everything?”
“Why do you ask me why I do everything that I do?”
“Because I’m trying to make sense of you.”
“Maybe I’m unmakesensable.” She shrugged.
“Really?” I snorted. “You’re a writer, and the best you can come up with is ‘unmakesensable.’”
“Well, now I feel like I have to prove myself.” She huffed.
“You don’t—”
“Indecipherable. Enigmatic. Perplexingly puzzling—”
“Really, you don’t have to—”
“Bewildering, mystifying, baffling—
“Okay.” I stopped her. “I take it back. You’re a human thesaurus.”
She beamed proudly.
“Hey, what’s your favorite fall movie that’s set in New York City?”
I shot her an incredulous look. “That’s an incredibly specific category, Elsie. And buckle up.”
“It’s actually a very big one,” she said, dragging the seatbelt across her waist. “Come on. Think about it. There’s Autumn in New York, Sleepless in Seattle. Ooh, When Harry Met Sally!”
“I think I’ve seen that one,” I said, pulling us out of the parking lot and back onto route. “It has Billy Crystal in it, right?”
“Yeah.” She grinned, pleased by the bare-bones of my movie knowledge. “I mean, I don’t fully buy into the whole message of the movie, but it’s so funny that I give it a pass.”
“What’s the message of the movie?”
“That men and women can’t really be friends because one of them will always want to sleep with the other.”
“What?” I asked. “I don’t remember that part.”
“It’s a pretty big part of the movie, Will,” she retorted. “Dare I say the foundation of its whole structure?”
I scoffed. “Well, that’s clearly not true.”
“What, you don’t think it’s the message of the movie?”
“No,” I clarified. “I mean, the thing about how men and women can’t be friends. That’s bullshit.”
“Oh,” she said, eyes narrowing in surprise. “Well, I agree with you.”
“That’s a first.”
“So, as a man, you think men and women can be friends without attraction playing any part in it?”
“Of course.” I cleared my throat, staring out at the road. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“I mean, I guess it is.” She shrugged casually. “I mean, you and I are kind of friends now, and it’s extremely clear you’re not attracted to me.”
“What?” My head snapped to look at her, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation took. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, sorry.” She rolled her eyes. “Did I offend you by referring to us as friends? Should I clarify that we’re not friends, but just two people on friendly-ish terms?”
“I—”
“I mean, you do keep showing up to help me. I’d consider that pretty friendly-ish.”
“Stop saying friendly-ish,” I said dumbly.
She shrugged, content to let the conversation die, but it was still churning around in my mind, unsettling me.
“How do you know I’m not attracted to you?” I asked, and then, feeling like I was close to admitting something, scrambled to add, “I just mean that seems like the type of thing you can’t be sure about unless someone tells you one way or the other.”
She thought about it, looking utterly unaware of the mayhem she’d thrown my mind into.
“Well, you never flirted with me.”
“Why would I?”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Because you’re not attracted to me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell her that I wasn’t attracted to her, because despite my best efforts, that would be a lie.
And I certainly wasn’t about to tell her I was.
Because even if I was, that didn’t mean I could pursue any type of relationship with her.
The two of us would never work in any semblance of the word.
She was hyper and chaotic and talked as if she were competing for some type of medal for cramming as many words as possible into what could’ve been a quiet moment.
And she was only here temporarily.
“Are you attracted to me?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Where the fuck did that come from?
“I think you’re attractive,” she said, making my breath hitch. Until she added. “But anyone would.”
“What?” I asked, forcing myself to focus on driving rather than hyper-analyzing every aspect of her body language.
“Yeah,” she drawled. “You’re the type of attractive that’s not really open to interpretation. You just are.”
My mouth went dry. I felt like some type of teenager, getting hit on by his crush for the first time in his life.
“But,” she added, “it doesn’t mean I want to date you or anything. So don’t get scared.”
Why doesn’t she want to date me?
I shook my head against the intrusive thought.
Probably for all the reasons I wouldn’t want to date her.
I wanted to slam my head against the wheel for acting like such an idiot.
“I’m not scared,” I told her, terrified only of whatever foreign feeling was rooting itself in my stomach.
“Great.” She beamed. “Because I really do think we could be great friends. We have that grumpy sunshine type of sitcom dynamic that might balance each other out.”
“Grumpy sunshine?” I asked, dumbfounded. “What the hell is that? Do I even want to ask?
She waved me off. “It’s romance book terminology. Because people like to read about a grumpy character falling in love with a sunshiny one. The contrast is usually funny.”
“Romance?” I raised a brow.
“Yeah, but as we just cleared up, that doesn’t apply here. And it’s just as interesting a dynamic when it’s platonic. Like, uh—” She paused, searching for an answer before snapping her fingers in delight. “Like Shrek and Donkey!”
“You think we’re Shrek and Donkey?” I felt my face contort into something between disgust and confusion.
“Definitely.” She nodded. “I’m annoying, and you’re a cynical loner.”
“Right,” I told her, wishing desperately that we were already at our destination and out of the stifling tension of this truck.
Elsie, apparently, had no such qualms.
“Hey, look at us, proving that men and women can be friends without attraction infiltrating the situation!” She reached her hand across the armrest to offer me a high five. “Go us!”
I begrudgingly hit my palm against hers and then cursed myself for how the feeling in my stomach tightened when her hand connected with mine.
“Yup,” I told her, tightening my grip back on the wheel where it belonged. “Go us.”