Page 53 of Her Pretty Words
I pick up my phone and call him. He answers on the first ring. “Miss me already?” he asks, voice smug.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
I bite the inside of my cheeks.What am I supposed to wear if I don’t know what we’re doing?“Well, will we be inside or outside? Should I dress nice or comfortable? Will we be sitting or standi?—”
“Wear something casual.” He hangs up.
I roll my eyes.How helpful.
I’m curling the last section of my hair when I hear a knock on my front door. I unplug the curling iron and then run my fingers through the curls as I walk through my house. I open the door to find two agonizing dimples and a towering man sporting his usual hat. No more glasses.
He blows out a low whistle, taking in my appearance. I’m wearing a bright coral baby T-shirt and a pair of denim jeans. He takes a strand of my brown hair between his index finger and thumb, eyes roaming over my face. “You look lovely.” He steps out of the doorway, gesturing for me to join him outside.
I expect to find out where we’re going, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He drives us over the bridge that connects Sanibel to the mainland.
I shoot him a questioning look, but his lips curve, and he pretends to zip them shut. He opens the window and tosses away the invisible key, which makes me laugh at how playful he’s being, and right as the sound touches his ears, he glances at me. The look in his eye is one I’ve only seen once from him. When he saw his first shooting star. I thought it looked like peace. A chill trickles down my body, and I tell myself it’s because I’m cold.
I plug his charging cord into my phone, and a mischievous grin takes over my face when I realize my music connected to his car speakers. I play an old Taylor Swift song and start singing her lyrics.
So does Grayson. He sings every word, attempting to turn his deep voice soft and instead it comes out scratchy. At first glance, his frivolous smile looks out of place, but the more I watch him, I realize he’s shed another layer. I laugh so hard, I’m tempted topull out my phone and record the moment, but I’m afraid he’ll stop and slip his mask back on. So, I brand it to memory instead, for only me to see.
I’ve always hid parts of myself in the presence of others. I want to protect them from the harsh opinions in this world. I can tell Grayson conceals more of himself than I do. Bravery manifests in a million different ways. So, when he reveals something new to me, I recognize the trust he has to do so. There’s intimacy in his vulnerability.
Another song plays, and like the previous one, he knows the words. By the fourth one, I turn to him. “I never pegged you to be a Swifty.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve been listening to her since I was a kid.” His expression changes ever so slightly. Do memories of his childhood make him sad?
I try to get his mind off whatever it is. “Where are we going?”
He grins but doesn’t answer.
“Are we almost there?”
No reply.
“Can you at least tell me how much longer we have?”
Nothing.
“Are you playing The Quiet Game or something?”
Silence.
I take it as a challenge. “Fine, don’t say anything. I’ll just sit here and keep myself entertained.”
His lips tick at the corners, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. Then, I sing in the loudest, most obnoxious voice I can muster. I shoot him a glance, but he doesn’t crack. Fine. “You know, I can remember exactly what I thought the first time I met you,” I say, and his face changes to curiosity. “Too bad we aren’t talking to one another, because maybe I’d tell yo?—”
“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he says.
I grin, then seal my mouth shut.
“Touché,” he says. “I remember what I thought of you the first time we met. Perhaps I’d be open to sharing if you were.”
NowI’mcurious. I can’t read him now any more than I could then. “Fine,” I say. “I thought you were an arrogant prick who was undeserving of such luscious eyelashes.”
His laughter is husky. “Your first impression was that I didn’t deserve eyelashes?”