Page 53 of Tattooed Sweetness
Then the door opens and she appears on the landing.
Celine.She’s wearing that red fabric coat she tried on a few weeks ago.So, she bought it after all…I don’t know why this observation fills me with such an unusual sensation of warmth.
It must be solely because of the way it accentuates her figure with its fitted cut… And because her feet don’t seem to touch the ground as she floats over to my truck now.
“Hi,” I greet her as she opens the door. Unfortunately, something less hackneyed can’t be found in the brain fog in my head. At least I remember my good manners and take the carrier bags from her.
“Hello,” she replies as she scales the entrance to the RAM.
Relief floods my veins. But before I can rack my brain any further about my body’s weird reactions, I have to maneuver the truck car out of the narrow lane. I put the selector lever in R, turn around and rest my right hand on the back of the passenger seat to…
…face the angry flash of a beverage truck. “Hey, what are you doing? Bullshit, he can’t cut me off!”
A fruity-smelling cloud of shampoo reaches my nose as Celine turns around as well. Our heads come very close; I almost believe her hair brushes against my cheek. “Whew,” she says, “that’s stupid.”
“Pretty stupid.” Actually, there’s another word on the tip of my tongue. “Now how do I get out of here?”
Celine snorts softly. Kind of… amused. “How about moving forward?” she asks, and when I look over at her, she points to the road leading down to the marketplace.
“But… it’s a pedestrian street,” I object.I mean, not that I would have driven through there without hesitation a few months ago, but…
“Free for delivery traffic,” she replies. Then her cheeky gaze hits me from the side. “And that’s what you are. Aren’t you?”
“You mean I just delivered merchandise toChic & Grace?” I guess.
She shrugs. “If someone should stop us… If… For sure, Pauline will confirm it.”
“Your sweet Pauline…” I give Celine a quick wink and put the selector lever on D before the delivery driver behind us suffers a heart attack. “She’s unmistakable, your friend. Can it be?”
“You think so?” Celine wants to know as we roll into the marketplace at turtle speed. “Does that mean… How do you know each other?”
I circumnavigate a troop of older ladies, wearing windbreakers and odd rain hats to defy the mixed weather, and turn onto the main street. Once we’re past the chicane, I turn to Celine. “I really needed to buy another one of those turtlenecks,” I say, pushing the jacket aside with my left so she can see the pullover.
“Black again?” The corners of Celine’s mouth curl; surely something cheeky lies on the tip of her tongue.
Between the optician and the shoe store, I turn right, off what should be pedestrian-only pavement. “In black, of course,” I reply and step on the gas to take advantage of the green light. Once on the four-lane state highway, I switch the cruise control to thirty-four miles per hour, hoping for a green wave.
“But isn’t that a bit…” Celine doesn’t finish the sentence, slipping around in the passenger seat instead.
“…dry?” I suggest. “Bland, colorless… or boring?”
“Sure.” She snorts out a laugh. “Because you, of all people, are boring…” With routine hand movements, she takes advantage of the red light at the end of town, rising slightly in her seat to smooth the fabric of her coat. Then she looks at me from the side. “I don’t think I’ll have a less boring customer for years to come…”
Is there regret in her voice?Before I can ask, she continues talking.
“So?” she asks, “Where are you taking me? What place is that…” She draws quotes in the air. “…effing awesome offerlocated? Do we have to go far? Because then I’d like to take off my coat. So I won’t be freezing outside later… Not that I’ll be freezing outside later…”
I don’t know why, but her flood of words elicits a smirk from me. To distract her from it, I point to the right. “We’ll be there in a sec.” I put on my blinker, get off the gas, and steer the Dodge over to the deceleration lane. Only just before the right turn following the exit do I briefly tap the brakes. The truck’s momentum is sufficient for the following left-turned third circle.
“Oops!” Celine cries, clutching at the center console, having already grabbed the namesake grab handle above the passenger door in a panic. Her body is thrown forward in the seatbelt as I step on the brake.Uhm, unfortunately, a little too forcefully.But she doesn’t complain, just looks at me from the side. “Here?”
“Here.” I let my eyes follow hers as she looks around.
To the left, beyond the four-lane expressway, is a burger joint. Ahead, the narrow connecting bridge to the industrial park.
“Bodywork and Automotive Paint Manufactory,” Celine reads from the billboard towering in front of us. “Auto glass center, classic car restoration, and vehicle reconditioning?” The question marks in her wording are hard to ignore. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Absolutely.” I turn on the hazard lights and stop the engine. Then I look at her. “Let’s get out.” Without waiting for her, I circle the truck and walk over to the gate element in the construction fence at the side of the road.