Page 76 of Look on the Bright Side

But the Santinis would be going back to the Cape, of course! She could get a ride with them, then deal with her car tomorrow. Or ask Lorenzo to do it.

She texted Izzy. Any chance of catching a ride down to the Cape with you guys? My car was towed.

A second later, the answer came. Oh no! We’re already at the bridge and it took forever to get here. Hang on a sec.

Lark sat on the curb, draping her dress bag over her suitcase. It was already eight thirty, and she had really hoped to get home, see her nieces and eat before heading into the hospital for the evening shift, which started at three thirty. Her phone dinged.

Help is on the way! Just texted Dante, and he can drive you. Here’s his number.

Wincing at the hard tingle of electricity that sentence caused, Lark wrote back, Thanks, I’ll take it from here. So much fun last night! See you soon. Xoxox

Then she texted Dante’s number. No need to come get me. I can grab a Lyft back, but thanks.

Her phone rang. “Hey,” Dante said. “I’m three blocks away. I’ll take you home. I was headed down to the Cape anyway.”

“Is that actually true?” she asked.

He laughed. “No, but I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I can spend the night with my folks and win some brownie points.”

She glanced at her watch. He was her best bet of getting back at a reasonable time. “Okay. Thank you so much, Dante.”

Five minutes later, she was sitting in the cab of Dante’s pickup. “I really, really appreciate this,” she said.

“You’ve already said that. It’s not a big deal.” He flashed her a smile, then pulled away from the curb.

As she sat in the passenger seat, that dark, electrical current in her bones intensified. It was…disturbing. And inexplicable.

Once, when she was about fourteen, she babysat for a family in Truro. Very sweet little boys, lovely house, chocolate chip cookies on the counter for her. The dad—Allan—drove her home at the end of the night. The whole way, she’d had a similar feeling…an intense and indefinable discomfort for no apparent reason.

Allan dropped her off at her house, thanked her and drove away. Two months later, he’d left his wife for an eighteen-year-old girl. Had she had a premonition that Allan was a creeper? Was that what it had been?

“How old was your last girlfriend?” she blurted.

He glanced at her. “Why?”

“No reason.”

“Uh…thirty-one? Thirty-two?” Dante replied, changing lanes.

Okay, so not that. Another time, she’d refused a ride home from a party when she was in college. The driver had seemed sober, but had crashed. Blood alcohol level almost twice the legal limit.

“You didn’t have too much to drink last night, did you?”

“That’s quite a topic change.” He gave her a curious look. “I had two beers and a couple of sips of champagne. Why? Is my driving making you nervous?”

You’re making me nervous. “No. Just checking.”

“Guess that’s the doctor in you. But don’t forget, I drive for a living. Big shiny trucks.”

She smiled a little, and the darkly electric sensation subsided. She risked another glance. Dante wore a T-shirt and jeans, and his hair was thick and rumpled. She’d seen him somewhere, she knew it. That wasn’t a stretch…Boston, despite its boom in the past generation, was still a small town, and she’d gone to school there for eight years, after all. Firefighters were out and about all the time.

Oh. Wait. “Are you in a firefighter calendar, by any chance?”

He laughed. “Mr.October, last year. I was holding a gray kitten.”

That was it. Jordyn had sent her that calendar for Christmas, as a joke, and yes, Lark had looked through it appreciatively, then put it in recycling.

“Mr.October,” she murmured. “I knew I’d seen you before.”

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