Page 17 of The Art of Falling in Love with Your Enemy
I swear, I can actually hear Mr. King’s footsteps in my mind as he walks across the hardwood floors of his shop to close the door for the night.
“What’s stopping you?” I say, a bit too grumpy for Zac’s taste judging by his reaction.
He takes a breath and turns his face toward the sky. As he does, a tiny pit (see definition of tiny) forms in my stomach. One thing I do know, and I learned it from my mother, is that you don’t catch bees with vinegar. Or maybe it’s flies? Not like it matters. Maybe I’m the jerk and I’m pushing this comedy bit between us too far.
Toning down my immaturity a notch, I reach out and place my hand on his forearm.
“Sorry. I’m a bundle of nerves right now. I promise as soon as I go home, I’ll figure out what time on Monday morning I can get into the DMV so I can sort all of this out.”
“Really?” Zac slopes his head to the left, narrowing his eyes like he doesn’t believe me.
“Hand on heart,” I say as I do just that. “Look, I’ll take whatever fine it is I need to pay. I just need to get to King’s before they close.”
Zac’s eyes search mine when this tiny little sparkler goes off inside of me. There’s a direct line of energy running from this man straight up my hand that’s touching his arm, and directly into my core. I drag my eyes away from Zac’s to look at my hand on his arm before snapping it back to the safety of my lap.
Glancing at his arm, he clears his throat and takes a step back. “As long as you do that, we should be fine. But, I still need to call this in. Give me a few minutes and we’ll get you on your way.”
I watch out the side mirror as Zac starts back to his car. He stops and turns around. “I’ll even call Mr. King when we’re done and see if I can beg him to let you do your shopping, okay?”
“Sounds good,” I squeak, giving him a thumbs-up as I sink back into the driver’s seat. Funny that I’m in the driver’s seat of my car, isn’t it, when I don’t even feel like I’m in the driver’s seat for my life at the moment.
Zac aside, I’ve now managed to possibly throw my weekend painting schedule off and added to my to-do list for Monday morning. Plus, the money involved—pay for a new license, pay for a new car registration, and from the looks of things, I’ll be paying off a speeding ticket, too.
I gaze out the window, staring at a dust trail a few fields over. Mr. Phoebus must be plowing his fields in preparation for the winter crops they’ll be putting in soon. The thought that I know his name makes me smile. That’s why I wanted to move to a small town. I wanted to know my local mechanic, shop from the farmers who produce our vegetables, find the local community groups who need help and help them, contribute. I wanted to slow down and enjoy life.
I can feel the tension beginning to release from my neck and shoulders as Zac gets out of his cruiser and starts walking back over to me. Even the sight of a police officer I know walking up to my car, even if he does make me crazy, makes me happy.
However, the look on Zac’s face does not make me happy. Not at all.
“Hey, Etta,” he says, kneeling down next to the car. “I know you lived in D.C. for a long time, but you would come back and visit, right? Often, too, I’d imagine, huh?”
“Yeah, of course. My grandmother lives here and my brother, Jack, moved here, so yes. I would visit as often as I could.”
“Do you remember getting a speeding ticket on one of those trips down here?”
A nervous flutter begins in the foundation of my gut. I’m not sure I like where this is going.
“Um, yes…I remember one from like four years ago, but I paid for it.” Turning my body in the seat so I can face Zac, I feel a cold sweat starting on my hairline. I had paid it, right? “I have a faint recollection of writing a check and putting it in an envelope.”
“Would you have kept a record of it?”
“I mean, I can’t say for sure, but I can dig into my old bank accounts and find the proof, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Zac bites his lip and stares at me, his eyes almost woeful. Honestly, if I wasn’t freaking out on the inside, I would find this kind of lip biting-thing quite sexy, but I’m past that now. We’re in a whole other stratosphere, folks.
“Etta,” he whispers as he takes a giant gulp of air, “I need you to get out of the car, please.”
“Why?”
“Oh man.” Zac squeezes his eyes closed as he stands up, reaching his hand behind his back. My heart pounds inside my chest so hard I swear on all things I’ve ever sworn on that it’s going to crack my chest wide open.
“I’m sorry, Etta, but you’re under arrest for driving on a suspended license.”
EIGHT
Zac
Standing outside her cell, I can’t help but think about what just transpired. The ride back to the police station was far from comfortable. Etta remained rigid in the back seat of my cruiser, her shoulders tense and hunched, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Despite my attempts to break the silence and diffuse the heavy tension, all my apologies fell flat.
