Page 22 of Light Up The Night
She frowns at my hand as if unsure what she's supposed to do with it, and then looks at me as if trying to determine why I would be holding out my hand like that. And then, finally, after several long, weird, silent seconds, she fits her small, soft, slender hand into mine. I lead her outside through the side door—the only door I ever use—lock it behind me, and then pull her across the driveway to my garage. I enter the code one-handed, and the garage door rolls up with a loud squeal.
I open the passenger door for her and hand her up and in, lean in and buckle her up.
"Riley, I have a question to ask." She says this once I've clicked the buckle into the receiver.
"Okay."
"Do you think I am going to become lost on the way from your house to the garage?"
"Um, no."
"A follow-up question, then. Do you think me incapable of operating a seatbelt?"
"No."
"Then why insist on holding my hand, and why insist on buckling me in like a helpless child?"
"I…" I clear my throat while processing this interaction. "Are you offended?"
"Yes. I am an adult." She looks at me intently, her expression one of perplexed offense. "I do not need a hand to hold. I do not need assistance buckling myself into an automobile."
"I'm sorry I offended you, Cadence," I say, half-in the cab, still. "I held your hand because I like holding your hand. That's it."
She blinks at me without otherwise changing her expression. "And the seatbelt?"
I grin at her—the smirk that others have called the panty-melter. Not my words, ya'll. "That was just because I wanted an excuse to be closer to you."
"Oh." Another flat, expressionless, slow blink. "How strange. Why?"
Again, I have to choke back a laugh at her ridiculous question. "In the kitchen, earlier. You touched my chest. Why?"
She blushes furiously. "I do not know. It was a strange impulse which I cannot explain."
I think you can, Cadence Creswell. But I won't press the issue…yet.
Bad Riley—bad. You won't press the issueever. This girl is as pure as the driven snow, and you’ve got no business evenlookingat her.
"Well, never mind then. I buckled you in because it's something I like doing. But if it bothers you, I won't do it again. I certainly didn't mean it as an insult, and I truly am sorry if it came across that way."
She nods. "Very well."
I step down and close the door, laughing to myself as I round the bed. She's just so…regal…when she says shit like that.Very well.
Alright, Queen Elizabeth.
I know it's not that. She's the least arrogant, entitled, or grasping person I've ever met. It's just how she talks. It’s adorable, bizarre, confusing, frequently makes me feel dumber than a bag of broken hammers, and is inexplicably hot.
I have issues—I am aware, thanks.
She's still lost in thought, so I leave the radio down low and leave her to her thoughts as I drive us to The Alt, the vegan, gluten-free, vegetarian, and other kinds of weird-food cafe owned by the Cartwright sisters.
She doesn't stir from her position—elbow on the armrest built into the door, chin on her hand, gaze out the window—even after I've shut off the motor and opened my door.
"We’re here," I say.
No answer. My god, when this chick gets lost in her thoughts, shereallygets lost in them.
"Cadence?"
