Page 89 of My Merry Mistake
“It’s really not.”
I can tell by her expression she disagrees.
“I made sure he knows this is all very platonic.” I take a drink, then look at Finn. “I think he felt obligated to check in, since, you know, my brain shut off in his arms the other day.” The words sting a little, a reminder of something still tender.
“Okay, Ray, if that’s what you think,” she stands. “Kind of nice for someone to show up for you, though.”
Poppy picks up a kitchen rag and tucks it into the belt of her apron.
And then she walks away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Raya
Ifeel a little like a toddler, stomping my foot and throwing a tantrum.
“I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me where we’re going.”
After breakfast—where Finn was, dare I say, pretty amazing for jumping in the way he did—we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of my house. He insisted that he needs to be the one to drive.
“I bet you’ve never just gone along with someone else’s plan, have you?” he asks.
I don’t answer, because I’m pretty sure it’s a rhetorical question.
He holds up a finger in a knowing point. “I betthat if I did tell you where we’re going, you’d map out the quickest, most practical route to get there, and if I went a different way, you’d think we’re wasting time.” He pauses, but he’s not finished. “And!I bet you never, ever take the back roads.” He cocks his head and looks at me. “Did you shake your Christmas presents too?”
When my eyes dart away, he lets out an “Ah-ha! You did! You’re ashaker!” He says it like it’scriminal.
“I told you. I don’t like surprises.”
“Even good ones?”
I fold my arms. “How am I supposed to know if it’s a good one if I don’t know what it is ahead of time?”
He looks at me like I’ve got an arm growing out of my forehead.
“I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He walks around to the driver’s side of his Jeep.
I stand there, arms still crossed, really not wanting to admit that after all my protestations, I actuallywantto go wherever it is we’re going. My curiosity is piqued.
Maybe I don’t hate surprises as much as I let on.
I hear awhirrras the sunroof opens on his SUV. He kneels on his seat, sticking his head out of the roof.
“Last chance.”
I fidget. Most people give in by this point.
After a few seconds of hesitation, he says, “Okay, well, I’ll see you later then.” He plops down and starts to slowly pull away.
“No! Wait!” Before I can talk myself out of it, I quick run to the passenger side door and bang on the window. He slows to a stop, and I get in.
I don’t have to look to know he’s smirking at me.
“Just drive,” I say, eyes focused on the dashboard.
A few minutes later, we’re on a highway, behind a car driving five miles under the speed limit. It’s making my skin crawl.
