Page 71 of The Dreidl Disaster

He could clearly see the concern on her face. And he knew he definitely wasn’t ready.

And yet if he continued to wait, he didn’t think he’d everbe ready.

But for Liv? For the sake of what they were building? He’d try.

He opened the driver’s side door, and motioned for her to follow him out of the car.

“Wait here,” he said.

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

He took a deep breath, headed over to the cover and removed it, carefully, easily, waiting as she watched him.

And when it was finally off, he turned in her direction.

“This…”

He didn’t know what she expected; the German sportscar sat gleaming before them, the sun coming through a window, setting off the beautifully polished paint job.

“As I told you, it’s my stress relief,” he said, stopping her from saying anything else. “I don’t…let anybody in. At all. Not even my best friend.”

He could see the disbelief run across her face before she tamped it down. “I’m…wow.”

“Impressed? Mortified? Disgusted? Excited?”

“Not disgusted or mortified, that’s for sure,” she said, the words coming slowly as if she’d gathered them out of the ether when she needed them. “But I think the best way to think about it is that I’m…surprised. But yet not surprised.”

She surprised the ever-loving crap out of him on a semi-regular basis. This was yet another one of those times.

“What…where did that come from?” he asked. “I mean why…?”

“I always drive,” she said. “I mean us.”

Which is something he thought about; if they were going somewhere together, she drove, otherwise he met her. “Which is true.”

“And that’s not to say I have a problem driving,” she continued. “Honestly, I don’t mind it at all.”

And yet it sounded like she wasn’t done talking; the sentence wasn’t done. “But?”

“That’s the thing that I couldn’t put a finger on. You’ve never struck me as the type who doesn’t…like driving, even though I understand the times when you say you don’t drive because you’re not familiar with the area and I am. Which meant there was something there.”

He looked at her, stepped toward her as if drawn by a force outside of his control. “I need to kiss you,” he said.

“Go right ahead,” she said. “My lips are…”

And he cut her off, his lips finding hers, his hands, his mouth, showing her how important this moment was to him. When he broke the kiss, he didn’t waste time, buffing the car exterior quickly and preparing for a drive.

“Let’s go,” he said. And quicker than he’d expected, she was in his car. In the passenger seat, looking like she belonged there.

Which she did.

Which was still awkward to him, even though it wasn’t bad. Instead, it was an awkward he looked forward to getting used to.

*

Artur had acar.

A ridiculously expensive sports car that he kept in a climate-controlled garage. Which he washed as stress relief. The leather she sat in was butter-soft, and the whole thing felt like a dream.

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