“Which one?”
“The protector coming home.”
He looks uncomfortable—irritated?—then says, “I don’t know what list that one is on. Other requests?”
“Do you ever listen to Broken Bells?”
He nods. “Good stuff.”
“Ooooh, no, I know what I want to hear! It’s such a good song. If you don’t think it’s too cheesy, you’ll like it. And you’ll see why I like it. Total optimist song. Hmm, let me see if I can find it.”
I pick up my phone, which is still plugged into Kellan’s iPhone cord, and flip around until I find one of my favorite folksy bands, a Portland group called Blitzen Trapper. I start the song I have in mind—called “The Tree”—and adjust the volume.
It’s a very uplifting song. Not blindly so, but with a kind of heaviness I appreciate. I’m disappointed to see Kellan looks more and more unhappy as it plays, until finally I turn it down.
“Not a fan?”
He shrugs. “It’s nice.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“I liked it.”
“Not like ‘Helter Skelter,’” I tease.
The corner of his mouth pulls up in a reluctant smile. “Can’t knock The Beatles, Cleo. Not unless you want to hitchhike home.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh yes.”
I thump his leg through the same worn jeans he had on yesterday, and think for a minute how weird it is to never see him in khakis anymore lately. The sun beams down in sheets of brilliant white as we near Chattahoochee.
“You can talk to me, you know,” I tell him as he slows to exit. “About Pace, about whatever. I’m a good listener.”
“Mm.” His blue eyes meet mine, then return to the windshield. “Thanks,” he says belatedly.
Whatever’s going on inside his head goes on until we reach the dirt road to his house. Then I feel a shift in his energy. No longer distracted, he seems edgy. Restless.
I’m almost expecting to be hauled up to the bed when we reach his house, but it doesn’t happen. Kellan dresses in khakis and a button-up, makes both of us a sandwich, and asks me if I want a ride to campus.
“You have a class?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
“Make-up lab,” he says. I wonder when he missed it, but he still seems moody and I don’t want to pry.
“Sure... I’ll go with you. I’ve got a two o’clock I shouldn’t miss. Stupid palliative counseling.” I grab my bag as Kellan shakes his head. “Those dying bastards.”
“Exactly.” I smile.
He smiles. He takes my hand for the short walk to the front door, and I get that butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling I remember so well from middle school. I steal a glance at him and find him looking at me. One of the butterflies swoops. I laugh. We smile at each other like two idiots as we step onto the porch and Kellan locks the door. He opens my car door for me, gets settled behind the wheel, and cranks the car... and I can’t hold it in any longer.
“I like you,” I blurt.
Kellan’s brows shoot up.
“Too much? Too soon?” I pucker my lips, caught between exuberance and embarrassment.
He surprises me by leaning in to kiss them. “Neither.” As he steers toward campus, his eyes move over me. “Hey, Cleo?”