Page 89 of The Secret We Keep
His smile momentarily drops before he fixes it. “What does it look like?”
I try to read his expression. “I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.
The sound of the car unlocking, clicks.
My gaze drops to the door before I look back up at Paddy.
“Get in.”
Eyes narrowing, I ask, “You want me to get in your car?”
That grin of his looks less forced this time.
“What for?”
He laughs sweetly. “Because I’m taking you home, Morgan.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to,” he says, blowing out a breath. “Now get in before you catch a cold.”
I open the door and climb in, less on instinct like last night, but more because I want to know what my dad spoke to him about.
I lost sleep overthinking what it could have been.
“Is it warm enough?” Paddy fiddles with a dial, blasting warm air into the car.
“Yeah,” I tell him, blinking rapidly. “It’s fine, Paddy.”
He twists the heat down a little. “You sure?”
I laugh disbelievingly. “Paddy, it’s like sixteen degrees outside. That’s warm for us, remember?”
He looks down at my hands, which I now realise are hidden in my sleeves. To anyone else, I can see how it could look like something other than my comfort.
To prove I’m fine, I show him my palms. “See? Fine.”
He nods, obviously satisfied. “Good. And Holly? Did you get hold of her?” Pressing a button, Paddy starts the engine.
“Yeah, she fell asleep on me. Wait, what in the gadget wizardry is that?” I blow out, releasing a breath laced with surprise. I missed it the last time I was in his car.
“I’m glad she’s alright. And that, is the starter button,” Paddy explains, checking his mirrors before putting the car into drive. He checks his mirrors again, puts on his indicator and re-checks his mirrors one final time before slowly pulling away.
“You’re a very careful driver.”
The sound he makes isn’t one of amusement. “I try to be.”
Looking at him without moving my head too obviously, I watch him drive. His hands sit at the perfect ten and two, gliding on the wheelwhen he turns onto a busier road. His head is constantly rotating, watching for other drivers. He’s cautious, following every driving rule that I know and have learned from reading my theory driving test booklet.
“Something wrong?” he muses.
My head snaps forward like a rubber band breaking. “No,” I say in a rush. “Nothing’s wrong, just…” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
Why did I just say just? Now I have to say something else.
After a beat, Paddy looks my way. Our eyes lock, then he breaks the contact, looking back at the road. “What is it, curly fries?”
I release my teeth. My lips part. Close. And part again. Realising I’m just sitting here making noises like a fish desperate for air, I give up and just come out with it. “You were scared driving. Yesterday, I mean.”
