“Driver’s choice,” he said, with clenched-teeth joviality.
EVIE: Maria, my darling, how well do you know Graeme?
MARIA: I know his mum—she’s lovely. Is everything OK?
EVIE: I’m sure it will be fine
I remembered what was in my pocket. I’d been late this morning because I’d gone to Gil’s to write, determined not to be put off by Ben’s attitude toward me. I’d even sat next to him and Anette (at her request, of course). After his assumption at Anette’s play, I’d decided it would serve him right if I wrote NOB a report as if I had intended it to be a meet-cute after all, with Ben in the starring role. It had been cathartic, almost like how writing used to feel. Then I’d put together a list of films for Anette to watch over Christmas, while pointedly ignoring Ben—the closest we’d come to interacting was when he’d reminded Anette that she had a Christmas present for me.
It was a USB stick containing a road trip playlist.
“May I?” Not waiting for permission, I stuck it into the slot on the dash.
“Hi, Evie, it’s Anette here,” came her lilting voice through the speakers.
“What is this?” Graeme asked.
“It’s a gift from—”
“And Ben.” I stopped, astonished as his deep voice rolled through the car.
“Meet your cute road trip playlist,” Anette continued.
“Is there a small chance Evie might miss your meaning?” Ben cleared his throat. “Because, sometimes, people can misunderstand.”
“And then they act like giant doofuses.”
“Thanks, Anette.” His tone was wry but assenting. “I promise to be less of a doofus from now on.”
Was I hearing this right? Ben no longer thought I’d concocted an elaborate scheme to kiss him? I wished he’d said something at Gil’s this morning. Though, to be fair, I had been ignoring him. Speaking of fair . . . I felt a flash of shame, remembering that I’d sent NOB the meet-cute report.
“Is this guy one of your exes?” Graeme asked, intruding on my thoughts.
“No,” I said. “He’s . . .” It was too complicated to explain. “They’re just some friends.”
“Playlists are Dad’s specialty,” Anette continued. “So lie back.”
“Keeping your eyes on the road,” said Ben.
“And who knows what might happen.”
I sang along to the entirety of “The Circle of Life” and Meatloaf’s “Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are” before realizing I was waiting to see if there were any more messages from Ben between the songs.
What am I doing? Playlist or not, the man clearly thought I was completely bonkers for doing the meet-cutes. Right now, I thought he might be right.
“Can you reach into the back for my water? I really need it,” said Graeme. “If only I’d brought my earplugs too! Ha, ha.” I handed him the bottle and got my phone out to distract myself and give Graeme a break from my off-key warbling.
NOB: Entertain me. My hot brunette is proving beauty is only skin deep. Absolutely zero conversation. No fun at all
Had Monica dyed her hair? It seemed such a cruel thing to say about her, but that was NOB for you. Maybe the gossip columns were right after all and they were going through a rough patch. She really could do better.
EVIE: Graeme’s a total riot
NOB: Bull. You’re stuck in the same traffic I am and you ran out of conversation 10 junctions back
My first thought was Traffic? Graeme would be thrilled. Followed by Hang on a minute.
EVIE: you’re on the M1??
NOB: I’m spending Christmas at Monica’s, remember? You never listen. Tell me about your meet-cute
So much for that rough patch.
EVIE: it’s going brilliantly. Have you picked your lead character’s name? I’m thinking Graeme
NOB: No woman in the history of rom-coms has gone weak at the knees for a Graeme
EVIE: Jude Law in THE HOLIDAY. Ha!
Outside, the sleet turned to rain. Fluorescent ribbons of rear lights trailed into the distance ahead of us.
“Traffic.” Graeme smiled triumphantly. “I told you so.”
“You certainly did.” Come on, Evie. Give him a chance. “How will you spend Christmas?”
“Helping my mam. She’ll be wondering why I’m so late. She’d have no one without me.” Graeme slurped his water. “Being single means I have time for her,” he continued, glancing over. He coughed. “Not that I wouldn’t make sacrifices for the right person. The problem is”—he waved his bottle, face ruddy in the glow of the brake lights—“there’s a reason so many women are single.”
Now, there’s a statement that’s never ended well.
“Will you just look at that rain,” I said. The raindrops were fat, full things that burst against the window, sending great cascades of water over the glass. “Kissing weather,” I murmured softly.
He coughed loudly. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” It was movie rain. The kind that soaked you through. When there’s no point using an umbrella because there isn’t a single part of you that isn’t drenched. Four Weddings and a Funeral popped into my mind, and that infamous line from Andie MacDowell.
Graeme shook his now-empty bottle and plonked it into his lap, sighing. “What’s that?” he cried suddenly, shooting forward in his seat and straining against his belt.
“What?” I asked, alarmed, searching the traffic ahead of us.
He sat back. “It was a bird,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“Are you okay?” I eyed him warily. His hair was all over the place and I was starting to think the redness in his cheeks wasn’t entirely down to the glare of the traffic.
Graeme’s eyes went wide and he tossed the empty bottle into the back. “I’m fine, why?” He thought for a moment. “I do need a wee-wee.” I’m sorry, the grown man just said what? “Let’s pull into the next service station. Aha!” He bounced up and down. “This one coming up is my favorite.”
My breath hitched as a smell filled my nostrils.
“Are you eating more of that fish?” I asked, glancing to check for the bag.
He coughed. “You made me throw it away, remember?”