Page 45 of Ewan

So this is a nice change, and although it’s a little scary, I fully enjoy it.

He doesn’t let his car roll down the road until I lift my gaze so he can read my eyes.

Something interesting is hidden in his stare.

He’s constantly evaluating me, and I’m familiar with that look. I give it to my pupils all the time, especially to those who need my help the most.

Finally, the car starts moving and my vehicle stays behind on the side of the road looking like a shipwreck.

“They’ll have it ready before tomorrow afternoon,” he says, hinting at the people tasked with fixing my car.

I look at him.

“They don’t have any of my information.”

“I’ll take you home and tell them where to bring it.”

“Who are they?” I ask.

“They’re the people who take care of my cars. They’re good,” he says, not looking at me. “Where are we going?”

His eyes find mine.

I give him the address and directions when he impatiently nods as if he knows the area.

“Do you live here?”

“Occasionally,” he mutters, and I swiftly move away from that topic and stay quiet for a while.

“What happened to Colley’s cousin?” I eventually murmur, staring out the window.

We enter a populated area with traffic and restaurants.

“What makes you think something happened to him?”

“Why couldn’t he come?” I insist.

He looks away and steers his vehicle onto a different street, and the lights of the restaurants fade in the background.

“He got caught up in something and asked me to do his job.”

“It happened so suddenly that he couldn’t get you a different Santa costume? Something that actually fits you?” I say with a smile.

His face darkens as he glances at me, and I realize I might’ve made a gaffe.

“He had an accident,” he says dryly, and my hand flies to my mouth as I’m crushed under a mountain of guilt.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. Is he all right?”

He smiles a little at my reaction, and I apologize frantically for the next few moments until he speaks again.

“Don’t need to feel bad about it,” he says, gesturing faintly at me and looking to his left as we take another turn and enter a poorly lit street.

“Is that you?” he asks, putting an end to our conversation.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

I point to the third house on the right.

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