Page 6 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
I half-wondered what that would be like, growing up knowing finances would never keep you from anything, but mostly I didn’t care. I was brought up with the mindset that you work hard for what you want in life, and that’s what I intended to do. I was already well on my way, focusing on my grades and getting involved in what school activities I could stomach to build my resume for college applications.
I also discovered that he had a dog named Brutus and two sisters, both younger, both just as gorgeous as him.
That was as far as I let my stalking go before I could no longer claim it wasn’t creepy.
“So just take this all the way to Scenic Drive?” Jamie asked, turning onto Cherry Street.
“Yep. Take a left on Scenic and I’m the fourth house on the right. It’s bright yellow, can’t miss it.”
A soft silence fell over us and I ran my hands over my hair again, smoothing it down, wondering if Jamie even cared what it looked like at all.
“This is a really nice car,” I said stupidly, breaking the silence. Jamie’s eyes lit up a bit and he shifted, switching hands on the steering wheel.
“Thanks. I had to work my ass off for three summers to earn it, so I appreciate it.”
I cocked a brow. “You paid for this yourself?”
“Well, kind of. I worked for my dad at his firm for three summers without being paid. I just told my dad I wanted a Jeep, a nice one, one that I could use to tote my board around but also be comfortable in for a long road trip.” He turned to me then. “He finally bought if for me after this past summer.”
“Nice. And why exactly does your car have to be road trip proof?”
Jamie noticed me crossing my arms, goosebumps breaking on my skin from the salt water drying. He leaned forward to adjust the air. “I don’t know, just in case, I guess. I love to drive. Helps clear my head.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”
“It’s also about the only time I get to listen to the music I actually want to listen to. You know, when no one else is in the car to say anything about it.”
“Okay, now I’m curious,” I said, uncrossing my arms and tucking my legs beneath me. “What exactly do you listen to?”
Jamie pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Promise not to laugh?”
“No.”
He chuckled. “Then I can’t show you.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t laugh.” He eyed me, debating whether to trust me or not. “At least, not loud enough for you to hear.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled, but it dropped quickly as he plugged his phone into the auxiliary cord and thumbed through his music. Each time he flicked his thumb up, scrolling through the playlists, a long indented line would break on his forearm where the muscles worked. I let my eyes stay there, watching that muscle, until the first note played as we pulled up to a stop light.
It was soft, soothing, familiar. Really familiar. When it sank in what song it was, I couldn’t hold back my reaction.
“No fucking way.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s nerdy.” Jamie reached for the volume knob but I smacked his hand away.
“No, no it’s amazing. I just, I can’t believe you listen to classical music. This is Brian Crain, right?”
It was his turn to blanch. “Yes.”
“I love him,” I said excitedly, sitting up straighter. I might have even bounced a little. “He’s incredible. Please tell me you listen to The Piano Guys, too.”
His mouth fell open. “I fucking love The Piano Guys.”
We both laughed, our eyes bright, searching each other as if the other didn’t truly exist. “This is crazy! I’ve never met anyone else who loved this kind of music. Like… ever.”
“That makes two of us,” he said as the light turned green. He didn’t go right away, just kept his eyes on mine, staring at me that way he did that made me wonder what he was thinking. It was as if I were a painting and he a curator. I felt him debating, circling, wondering if he should collect me or pass me by.
I prayed for the first option, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
The Mazda behind us honked and Jamie blinked, the spell broken. For the rest of the ride home, we didn’t say another word, just enjoyed his playlist and the wind in our hair. It was strangely comfortable sitting in silence with Jamie, as if we didn’t need words, especially with a piano version of “Bring Him Home” from Les Miserables serenading us as he drove.
When he pulled up to my house, I smiled, my head still laid back against the headrest as I turned to face him. “I can play this one.”
“Play it?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm, on violin.”
