Page 6 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Better?” he says softly. His voice is a caress on my skin, very different from the boy I’m used to seeing at school.

“Yes, thank you,” I say shyly.

“Where are you headed?”

“Less than a mile down this road.”

“Alright,” he says, “but first…” He moves over me, and I freeze. My heart jumps in my throat. “I’m just trying to get to theseat belt.” He pulls the belt from my right and buckles me in. I’m surprised that he cares.

He places the car in gear. My back presses into the seat as he effortlessly maneuvers the car down the curve of the road. I can’t help but watch the muscles flex on his strong forearms. Chills run down my arms when he notices me staring from the corner of his eye, and his mouth lifts in a grin.

It takes him two minutes to reach the dirt road that leads to my grandmother’s house because I counted. It was the best two minutes I’ve ever experienced in a car.

“Right here is fine,” I tell him over the persistent drumming of the rain.

The car comes to a complete stop. “Here?” he asks, confused at the overhanging branches, wild grass, and clusters of bushes.

“Yes,” I say nervously, my heart pounding. I point at the beat-up blue mailbox that reads Webster, with the W peeling off, and it’s hammered into a slanted piece of wood. I’m glad he can’t see my house from here.

“You live here?” he says, surprise laced in his words.

“Yes, right up the drive.”

The windshield wipers swipe across repeatedly. He leans forward, looking at the wet, uneven patch of dirt with tall weeds growing in the center, riddled with potholes and deep ruts filled with murky water, the drops of rain creating a rhythmic patter. “Are you sure you don’t need me to…?”

“No, that’s okay,” I say politely, pulling my long, wet strands to the side. “Thank you…for the ride.”

I can feel him watching me as I unbuckle the seat belt and grip my bag.

“Why don’t you wait a bit?” he says quickly.

I look up, and my wet hair slides forward as I look out the windshield, the wipers moving fast like an old clock.

“Until the rain slows down,” he says, causing my heart to somersault in my chest.

It would make sense to wait a few minutes until the rain subsides. I thought he would want to get rid of me as fast as he could.

“Okay,” I say softly, lowering my head.

“I hope you can accept my apology…” He swallows and then continues, “For everything.”

I open my bag and reach inside for the cookies I made, and I'm glad they’re still dry. I have nothing to offer him for taking me home, but maybe he would appreciate it.

“Here,” I say and hand him the bag of cookies with a sticker that reads Sugar Coated Sweets with my cell phone number on it.

He gives me a side grin and takes it, looking at the label. “What are they?”

“Well, they’re cookies,” I rush out. “Chocolate chip raisin, to be exact. I’m not sure if you like chocolate chips or raisins. The staff at school seemed to like them when I gave out some samples today.”

“Wait, you made these? Not your grandmother?”

My grandmother hasn’t been able to bake in years, but I don’t want to explain that to him.

“Yeah, it’s an old recipe from my grandmother. I didn’t use anything that contained nuts in case someone had an allergy. It’s becoming more common these days, and I thought it would be good for the bakery.”

I’m rambling because I’m nervous. He must think I’m a loser who only talks about baking because I can’t think of anything else to say to him. We have nothing in common except that we go to the same school.

He stares at the pack of cookies for a few seconds. He’s gorgeous. My heart pulses inside my chest, changing rhythm.The way the color of his eyes flicker in different shades of blue. The smooth column of his throat and the lines of hard muscle on his chest underneath his black shirt.

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