Page 34 of The Matchmaker
“It’s a valid question,” I say, defensive.
He looks tired. “Where are you parked?”
“Nowhere. I took the bus.”
“You don’t drive?”
“I can drive. I just don’t like to.”
“Then how are you getting home?”
“Also the bus?”
It seems like a pretty obvious thing to me, but Callum appears genuinely irritated now, like I’m being annoying on purpose and not just standing here minding my own business. “There’s no bus to Ennisbawn,” he says.
“There’s one to Rossbridge. I’ll walk from there.”
“It’s raining.”
“Iknow. I’ll survive. It’s just rain.”
He mutters something under his breath, something I have a feeling is a not-so-polite comment about me, and goes back inside without even a goodbye. I gape after him, insulted and oddly disappointed, but before I can dwell too much on either of those things, he reappears, stepping back out with a large golf umbrella. At first, I think he’s going to give it to me. Then he opens his mouth.
“I’ll drop you home.”
Um. No. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m parked by the church.”
“What about your date?” I ask, as he pulls on his coat. “What if she shows up?”
“Then she’ll know what it feels like, won’t she?”
I step out of the way as he opens the umbrella. “Glenmill Properties” is emblazoned along the side like on all the construction site’s boardings. I feel like a traitor just looking at it, but also: rain.
“You coming or what?” he asks, when I just stand there, and I dip underneath the shelter, only for him to immediately swap our places, sidestepping behind me so I’m not standing by the road. I’m grateful for it a second later as a car comes tearing around the corner, driving straight through a puddle and drenching everyone who happens to be too close.
Jackass.
“You really don’t have to—”
“This way,” Callum says, and takes off without waiting for me, forcing me to jog to keep up with him or get caught in the downpour as he leads me down the street.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s an awkward few minutes’ walk to the church while I try to match my steps with Callum’s, while also avoiding puddles. It would be much easier if I could stand closer to him. If he were Nush or Gemma or Harry, I would loop my arm through his and huddle in tight, but with Callum, it’s like a game to see how much distance we can keep between each other without getting wet. A game we’re both really good at.
When we finally reach the church, he leads me to a dark green van near the entrance. It’s chilly inside but dry and clean, and he turns the heater on as soon as we get in.
“Betcha it’ll stop raining now,” I say, as he strips off his coat. I keep mine on, trying not to be too obvious as I look around. But if I was secretly hoping for some magical bit of insight into Callum’s psyche, I’d be disappointed. There’s nothing. Naught. Nada. Zilch. Not even an air freshener hanging from the rearview. Maybe it’s a rental.
I hit the radio button as a last resort, disappointment filling me when it turns to a generic news station.
Callum gives me a knowing look. “Hoping for something embarrassing?”
“There is no such thing as embarrassing music taste,” I say, turning it off again. “But also, yes.”
He doesn’t answer, pulling out from the tight space and steering us toward home. Or my home, at least.
