Page 39 of The Lucky One

I’m fully aware I’m pressing her buttons, but that’s not something I’m planning on stopping anytime soon.

There’s a grin on her face as she turns her attention back to the road. “I have to drive,” she insists. “It’s my car. You’re not on the insurance.”

“Do you think the insurance police will find you in this small town?” I raise an eyebrow.

She doesn’t answer coherently because she’s muttering under her breath and I can’t hear whatever she said over the music.

But she adds, louder, “You probably shouldn’t drive because of your knee.”

I twist my face into a ‘be serious’ expression. “I’ve been cleared to drive for a while, thank you.”

It really doesn’t matter to me who drives. But if it were up to me, Bridget would at least have theoptionto drive or let me drive her around everywhere.

Or whoever.

My stomach twists when I think about us going our separate ways. That’s not what I want, but I’m not entirely sure how she feels. I’m a walking oxymoron because I’m telling her to step out of her comfort zone, but I’m scared—I admit it—that she doesn’t feel the same way that I do.

“Fine. You can drive wherever we go next. But you have to promise to tell me if your knee is bothering you.” An outsider would think she’s being controlling, but I hear the concern between the lines.

We turn onto the two lane road that leads to the farm, only making it a few curves before we come across a herd of goats trotting down the road.

“Oh look, rush hour. Enchanted Hollow edition,” I remark.

“Very funny,” she says, shifting the car into park.

“Should you text your sisters and let them know we’ll be late?”

You’d think I suggested that we run the rest of the way to the farm.

“Why? They’re just goats.” She opens the door and climbs out, heading right for the herd.

“She’s serious,” I mutter as she tries to move them off the road in a ‘shoo’ motion.

Because I’m curious to see how this turns out, I climb out of my side, then lean on the door for a front row seat.

There’s a cacophony of bleats and screams as they move, mixed in with Bridget’s urging. Most of them stick together, but one stands in the middle of the road like it’s challenging her. Maybe it’s a teenager.

“Come on goats—the farm is that way!” She motions down the road. “All your delicious food and toys are just right down the road, so just keep moving. You can do it!”

She’s literally cheering them on.

“Maybe you should offer to dance with them! That should get them moving!” I shout.

“You’re hilarious!” she returns with a laugh. “I told him I couldn’t dance but he insisted. Go on now, go!”

They continue running down the road in a haphazard group. I’ve seen a lot of things on the road over the years, but goats are a first.

Could we herd them with the car, driving along slowly until they get to the farm? It’s at least another mile away.

“You’re doing a great job!” I yell.

“Maybe you could come help? You could teach them some ballet.”

I chuckle. “How would that help?”

“It wouldn’t. Maybe I just want to see some moves.” She flashes a dazzling smile at me, causing my heart to skip a beat or two.

I think Bridget Mitchell just full-on flirted with me.

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