“No.”
I fumed. “Great. Have fun with that.”
I kept limping for another few steps, until the utter stupidity of the situation became too much. I stopped and faced him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I want to make sure you get home safe,” he said in a low voice. “That’s all.”
That’s all he wants.
Tears sprang to my eyes again. I blinked them away and climbed into the Dodge.
Immediately I was saturated by the essence of Isaac permeating the interior. Gasoline, cologne, cigarette smoke and something sweet and woodsy that was him. It defeated the lingering vestiges of my panic attack and stirred something new in its place.
I cleared my throat. “Thank you for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.”
Willow
We drove in silence a few blocks. I eased a sigh and leaned my head on the window.
“What happened?” he finally asked.
“I told you,” I said. “Claustrophobia.”
We came to a stop sign. There were no cars in either direction. Not a soul around. The night was black and silent and cold. Isaac reached over and closed his large hand around my left forearm, turning it over. The faint black X was visible in the weak street light on the corner.
I caught my breath. Then let it out. Isaac kept his gaze on my arm while his thumb went back and forth over the faded ink.
“I wanted to go to be like other girls,” I said, hating the tears blurring my vision, turning my voice high and flute-like. “I didn’t expect much. Just one decent dance would have been enough.”
Isaac said nothing. He rubbed his thumb over the X a final time, then let go to drive. I held my arm in my lap, touching where he had, trying to keep the warmth.
We turned up Emerson Road. It sloped up for a quarter mile before leveling off about fifty feet above town. Isaac pulled the truck over at a lookout spot and parked under a tall oak, standing like a sentry at the top of the hill. Harmony’s tiny downtown lay below, twinkling with little yellow lights and the larger, gold light of the HCT.
Isaac cut the engine but left the keys turned. Lights still lit up the dash and he fiddled with the radio knob, searching.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Not sure,” he said.
Static crackled. He passed by a few blaring commercials and then the opening guitar strains of Shawn Mendes’ “Imagination” came on.
Isaac looked at me, his green eyes deep and softer than I’d ever seen them. “How’s this?”
“It’s nice.”
Isaac got out of the driver’s side and came around to open the passenger door. He offered his hand and I took it. His hand was rough and callused with work, but warm and strong. Just the touch of it made me eager to have both his arms around me. All his body pressed to mine.
I never thought I’d want that again.
He helped me from the car and I winced as my feet touched down on the dirt. He caught me as I stumbled, then stepped back to reached through the passenger door to turn up the volume. He took my hand again and we walked to the edge of the lookout, onto soft grass that grew around the oak tree.
Isaac wrapped his arm around my waist and held my other hand to his chest, over his heart.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
I nodded and slipped my arm around his neck. The scent of him, so potent in the car, enveloped me softly. I leaned into it and let my head rest against his chest, against the white of his cotton shirt exposed by his leather jacket. I inhaled as we swayed slowly to the music, the lyrics speaking for both of us.