Page 6 of Ride By Your Side

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Nope, you’re the one who is ridiculous,” I tease, giving his chest a playful poke. “If you think for even one second I’m going to share any of this with you after all those snarky comments, you’re out of your mind. I highly suggest you grab a snack or two for yourself before we check out; otherwise, you’re going to have a pretty depressing drive.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, reaching for a bag of pretzels.

“Oh my God.” I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s really what you chose? Actually, you know what, it all makes sense.” Sure, there are likely healthier choices than pretzels—he could have gone for a protein bar or something similar, but out of all the snacks, he actively chose pretzels. “You truly are the most boring person on this planet. You are doing very little to dispel me from thinking you truly are an old man in a hot dude’s body.”

“Okay, come on now. I’m sure there are plenty of people more boring than me out there,” he huffs, seeming to ignore the rest of what I just said, and likely for good reason.

“Not really. Then again, you are a dog daddy, so I suppose you have that working in your favor,” I concede, reaching for a bag of dill-flavored sunflower seeds. “But I’m not sure that totally invalidates the fact that you absolutely refuse to have fun or even smile.”

“I smile,” he challenges, clearly defensive. “And I know how to have fun. Just because my form of fun doesn’t involve doing something illegal doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have it.”

“Okay then, Mr. Ball of ‘Fun,’ what exactly does Miles Bennett do when he’s out there having this so-called ‘fun?'”

“Hanging out with my buddies, watching games on TV, going to concerts, driving around, fixing cars...” he trails off, clearly trying—but failing—to come up with more.

“Fixing cars?” I smile, turning to face him. “That’s your job. And while I’m glad you’re doing something you love, if that’s on your very short list of what you find fun, you’re clearly not a very fun person.” Okay, so maybe I’m being a little mean here, but until yesterday, I could count on one hand the number of times Miles Bennett had done or said something nice to me.

Plus, he’s a certified grump. While I can understand some of his need to be standoffish and broody, given what I know about his childhood from Blair, I don’t think that gives him the right to be mean or, oftentimes, outright cruel.

I know I got his sister into trouble from time to time, but it’s not like we ever ended up in jail or faced any serious consequences. It was all just silly, harmless fun. What else do you expect from a bunch of kids and teenagers stuck in a small town? When there isn’t much to do, you have to create your own entertainment, and we definitely did just that.

“Oh, so you don’t enjoy your job?” he challenges.

“I love my job,” I happily admit. Being an art teacher is a dream come true for someone who has always had a passion for creating and sharing that joy with others. “But that doesn’t mean when someone asks me what I do for fun, I’d say teaching at the high school.”

"Well, that sounds like a you problem," he says, walking past me toward the register, clearly trying to nudge me toward checking out without grabbing anything else. “Plus, it’s notjust working on other people’s cars that I enjoy. I also enjoy rebuilding them for myself. That car out front that we’re driving,” he says, nodding toward where we left the car parked, “I fixed it up myself.”

“Really?” I ask, reaching for one last bag of beef jerky before chasing after him.

In many ways, I can’t say I’m surprised by what he just told me. While the two of us happily avoided each other, I do remember him sticking around after school to work in the auto body shop. Then as soon as he turned eighteen and graduated, he went straight to working at the local mechanic shop before buying out the owner when he retired.

As someone who’s always had a lifelong love for the arts, I completely understand choosing a career that sparks joy and fuels your passion. It makes all the difference, especially when all those minor inconveniences crop up that make you want to quit right then and there. But I suppose I never realized just how deep his passion went.

Then again, Evergreen does have quite a few old clunkers driving around, even if none look as good or are in as pristine condition as his. Plus, the fact that many of those cars you see still driving around are likely only doing so because they have Miles there to fix them and make it all possible.

Given that Miles and Blair’s parents weren’t the most beloved people in town—Mrs. Bennett ran off before Blair’s second birthday, and Mr. Bennett made a fool of himself as the town drunk—a lot of people looked at the two Bennett children and saw nothing but a problem, especially when I did little to help Blair’s case, as the two of us made a point of becoming known as the town’s notorious trouble-makers.

Obviously, none of the stuff we did was malicious, but still. I can see why most people chose to look negatively on her instead of me, especially when my dad was the well-known and belovedtown mayor. It really isn’t much of a surprise that Miles took the opposite approach and has gone out of his way to show that he’s nothing like either of his parents. Sure, he’s perpetually grumpy and broody, but everyone knows he’s the go-to guy for any of your mechanical needs.

“Yeah, but don’t go thinking I’m looking for you to see me differently or that I’m fishing for some sort of compliment. I’m just trying to prove a point. Just because I fix cars for my job doesn’t mean it’s not also a hobby. Come on, you can’t tell me you never work on any projects outside of work?” he presses.

I twist my mouth to the side and wrinkle my nose. He’s got me there.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I dabble a little here and there,” I lie, because art is my life. While I didn’t have as much time to fully dedicate to my passion as I would’ve liked when Pete and I were together—especially not when we were engaged—it was something I would’ve loved to focus on more.

“Yeah, sure.” He half-laughs, half-scoffs as we move up in line and he starts to unload our huge haul onto the counter.

It’s fairly obvious the clerk is judging us, and even as Miles sends me an annoyed glance I don’t let it deter me. I’m finally starting to feel like myself again, and if buying a shitload of junk-food is what’s going to make me happy, then I’m going to do it.

I let Pete squash my happiness for far too long, and while I don’t think it’s his intention, I refuse to let Miles do it as well.

“Alright, that will be seventy-eight sixty-three,” the cashier says, doing his best to put all the snacks into one bag, but clearly failing as he’s forced to pull out a second one.

“We’re really spending seventy dollars on snacks?” Miles asks, still stuck in disbelief at the total.

“No,I’mspending seventy dollars on snacks, andyouwill be sitting there all sad and depressed the entire drive with your sadlittle water and pretzels,” I hush him, tapping my card on the small reader to pay.

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