Page 90 of You're The One
White walls.
White doves.
White ice.
Snow.
Clouds.
Bedsheets.
Arctic foxes.
Pupils.
Polar bears.
Salt.
Pure.
Blank.
White.
The passenger door clicks open and shut, startling me.
One more white: her dress.
The only shade of the color I don’t hate right now.
My knee-jerk reaction is to slip on the happy-go-lucky mask I’ve worn most of my life. The one that keeps things light. But I don’t have to with her, do I?
We’re not clean or controlled. We’re messy. But still so fucking bright.
Maybe the rest of my life could use a little of that.
“Do you always keep your car keys on you?” Mia asks, breaking the silence. It was deafening a minute ago, but now, with her, it’s comfortable.
I nod toward the hooks by the door, where all the keys hang.
“You’re not worried someone might steal one?”
I shrug. “I’ve got insurance. And the garage only opens with my fingerprint.”
She shakes her head. “Must be nice to be that rich.”
I wonder why she’s talking about locks and cars and keys. Then I realize she’s doing exactly what I need, pulling me out of my head.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks, careful not to disturb the peace she’s somehow brought with her.
“No.” I drum on the wheel.
“Okay.” She watches me, then lowers her voice. “I should tell you… I may or may not have scared your mom off. Just a heads-up. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
A laugh escapes me. “My little pit bull.”
I shift closer, sliding my arms around her waist and resting my forehead on her shoulder. I press a kiss there.
