Page 23 of More Than Pen Pals

“No, not like that.” He holds his hands up. “We’re not going tomyhome. I’m driving you to yours to make sure you get there safely. All right?”

Without waiting for me to answer, he flips open the front of the jacket I’m wearing, reaches into the inside pocket, retrieves a small card, and hands it to the man at the valet stand. A light cinnamon scent wafts up from the jacket, and I close my eyes to revel in the smell. It’s somehow both comforting and stimulating.

The three minutes we wait for the car to come around are the most awkward moments of the evening so far. Neither of us seem to know what to say, so we say nothing.

I pay little attention to the four-door Volvo pulling up to the curb until Ash opens the front passenger door. My eyebrows ascend again. “This is your car?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He sounds defensive.

“Nothing,” I assure him. “I figured you’d drive a Porsche or BMW or something.”

“I’ve always thought it’s silly to waste money on cars.”

Yet he just spent more on one meal than I paid for my first car. Then I remember this restaurant wasn’t his idea.

Ash waves me forward, and I slide onto the seat. He carefully closes the door and rounds the vehicle to the driver’s side. Then he puts the car in gear but doesn’t take his foot off the brake.

“Where to?”

I give him my address. “Do you know where that is?”

“I know where everything is.” He grins at me.

“Smartypants.” I smile back.

He pulls into traffic, which is heavier than I thought it would be at ten o’clock on a Wednesday evening. As he maneuvers through the streets of downtown Chicago, I pull his jacket up higher and breathe in his scent. I watch him as he hums along to Aerosmith’s “Angel” playing softly on the radio.

He glances over at me. “Are you watching me?”

“Busted.”

“Stop it. You’re making me nervous. I might get into a wreck.”

“Really?”

“No.”

I giggle. “It’s truly bizarre that I’m here … with Ash Hamilton … in a Volvo … driving through Chicago. If you’d told me fifteen years ago we’d be here today, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

twelve

“If someone told meyesterdaywe’d be here,” I say, “I wouldn’t have believed it.”

What a difference a day makes. What a difference a few hours make. I feel like the past ten hours have been a wild dream. But if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. I want to keep driving around with Leslie by my side.

“Ouch!” I yelp at a sudden sting in my arm. I look over as Leslie’s hand drops into her lap. My gaze moves up to her face, and she’s pressing her lips together, trying not to smile.

“Did you pinch me?” I ask her with wide eyes.

“Yep. Wanted to make sure you’re real.”

I stop at a red light and rub my arm, but I can’t blame her, since I was wondering the same thing.

“I’m real,” I say, “and tomorrow I’m going to have a bruise.”

“Me, too,” she says, massaging her stomach.

It takes me a second to figure out what she’s talking about. “Les, I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked if you’re okay after choking at lunch.”

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