“One question you have to answer honestly,” he clarifies. “But I can ask you another question after that, and you might have no problem answering it. Right?”
I think this through. “Yes,” I finally say. “That is possible. There are lots of questions I don’t mind answering.”What are you going to eat when you get home?Chips and queso.Where is your dream vacation?The Maldives.How much money would you pay to un-admit you used to be infatuated with Felix?The limit does not exist.
See? I can answer lots of questions.
“Okay,” Felix says, and for a second he appears to be thinking. In the darkness of the car I can still spot the furrow in his brow, and he’s drumming his fingers absently on the wheel as he drives. Then, finally he nods. “Okay,” he says again, more decisively now. “I have my question.” He glances over at me and then back to the road. “When did you like me? You said you don’t want to fall for me again. When did you fall for me the first time?”
I sigh, groaning as I rub my hand down my face.
Felix laughs. “What—did you really think I wasn’t going to ask?”
“No,” I say. I slouch down in my seat. “But a girl can dream.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he says, still grinning. “I understand why you fell in love with someone as amazing as me. I’m perfect in every way. But I’m dying to know when this happened.”
And incredibly, miraculously, the dread I’ve been drowning in begins to ease—clouds dissipating to reveal a clear, starry sky. My lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “I was a wee lass, okay?” I say. “So don’t go getting any ideas. You’re not all that great. I just didn’t know any better.”
Felix inhales sharply, an exaggerated sound. “Ouch,” he says, but that grin is still in place. “You’ve wounded me, Sunshine. I have it on good authority that I am the ideal male specimen. Every woman’s dream type.”
I laugh out loud at this. “You wish, Caine.” I glance over at him and then look away again. “I was in high school, and you were my older brother’s cool best friend. That’s all.” I hesitate and then go on, “But you know what? I even studied communications because of you.”
I turn to him just in time to see his eyes pop wide open, his jaw dropping. “Oh, no,” he says, looking back and forth between me and the road. “Did you really?”
“Kind of, yeah,” I say with a grim nod. “Not in the sense that I wanted to impress you or whatever. But you made it seem so cool, you know? You had this way of making even boring things seem fun and exciting.”
“And you hated it,” he says.
“I don’t know if I hated it, but I certainly wasn’t passionate about it. Although,” I allow, “no one is passionate about communications.”
He blinks at me. “I’m passionate about it.”
“You’re the only one,” I say, a little snappishly because it’s ridiculous and yet I’m not at all surprised. “The rest of us think it’s boring. I just stuck with it because at that point I realized I really loved working with animals, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a vet. Too medical for me.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Wow. I never knew I wielded so much power over your young, impressionable mind—” But he breaks off, laughing, as I smack him on the shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “no attacking the driver.”
I shake my head, trying to suppress my own laughter.
How does Felix do this? How does he make everything so easy? He takes my worries and turns them into smiles, a magician turning a top hat into a bouquet of flowers.
We finish the rest of the drive in companionable silence, a space free of the anxiety I felt before. When we pull into my driveway, we both get out and head around to the back. It’s a relief to unload Betsy and have her back home with me, even if the thought of riding her again makes me a little nervous.
I didn’t lie to Felix. I still love her. But I don’t know that I’m ready to ride her again yet.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.” I don’t know how to tell him that he turned a horribly mortifying situation into one that I could breathe through. I hope my thanks is enough.
“Sure thing,” he says, and I step out of the way so he can close the trunk. “But before you go in…”
I glance at him, and he sighs, running his fingers through his hair again.
I bet it’s soft. Itlookssoft.
“I know I’ve been going on about making you help me with this article,” he says after a second of silence. He shoves his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable now. “But I’m not actually going to tell anyone about the Pageant.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”
Slowly, I nod. “I know.” We’ve teased each other about it, but he isn’t that kind of person.
“So you don’t actually have to do all this with me, is what I’m saying.” He clears his throat, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “If you don’t want to. I won’t force you to do any more.”
A warm breeze plays with my hair in the dark, tugging it into my face and tickling my skin. I push it impatiently away. “Do you not want me to?” I say.