Page 43 of The Devil Wears Tartan

I lunge for the volume knob and apologize again. “My dad must have been the last one to drive this.”

“You’re telling me you don’t cruise around in your station wagon with Def Leppard blasting?”

I shake my head and put the car into reverse. “Can’t say that I do.”

I twist around to get a better view through the back window, the same way my dad taught me when I was a teenager, and brace my free hand on the edge of Kenzie’s seat to keep me in place. My fingertips brush her shoulder, and I feel her tense.

My breath catches.

Once I’ve gotten us past the edge of the driveway, I straighten in my seat, but the tension doesn’t leave the car. I can smell a faint trace of vanilla perfume wafting off her, and it makes my hands tighten around the wheel. I don’t even realize I have no idea where I’m going until I’m halfway down the street.

“So, uh, where do you live?”

Kenzie’s hands are squeezed together in her lap. “Do you know how to get to Merivale Road from here?”

I nod. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s near there. I can tell you where to turn when we’re closer.”

We continue the drive in silence for a few minutes

“So, uh, that was not the day I was expecting,” I say as I pull up to an intersection.

“Yeah,” she agrees, staring straight ahead through the windshield. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“It was fun, though.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, and I brace for her reply. Normally, I let her derisive comments roll right off me or use them as fuel for a comeback, but as a couple moments of silence tick by, I realize she could hurt me with what she says next—really hurt me, because I really did have fun, and it suddenly feels like I might crumple if she tells me she didn’t.

“Yeah,” she finally answers. “It was fun.”

My heart starts clanging around in my chest, and it might be the first time I regret seeing a red light turn green.

I want to keep staring at her, to watch her until I can figure out what she’s thinking. I want to know if she’s holding onto that moment in the church kitchen this morning like I am, with the same reverence and caution I’d give to a secret treasure.

Or maybe a bomb.

It’s a fine line.

I’m on autopilot for the rest of the way to Merivale, and I don’t even register we’ve arrived until she tells me to make a left at the next set of lights and then a right. A few minutes later, we pull up outside an apartment complex made up of a few brick high-rise buildings.

“It’s building one ninety-nine,” she says as I curve through the maze of parking lots.

I notice her shoulders have curled forward, and she’s squeezing her hands extra tight in her lap. I can see her knuckles going pale.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep,” she says, the word terse and brittle.

I don’t push it.

“Here we are,” I announce once I put the car in park in front of her building.

She’s already pulling her seatbelt off and reached for the door handle.

“Kenzie, wait,” I blurt.

She pauses.

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