Where Sea Meets Sky

But I do understand. I went through it myself.

“So then what do you do?” I ask.

His mouth quirks up into a smile. “Just relax and have fun. Do what we’re doing right now. Embrace the fog, I guess. Eventually it has to clear up.”

“I have no idea what the hell you munters are talking about,” Nick says as he rolls up his chips into the newspaper and tosses them into the rubbish bin. He never eats chips and usually picks all the batter off of the fish.

“You wouldn’t,” Josh says under his breath, and I shoot him a sharp look. He doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic and meets my eye with determination. I can almost hear what he’s thinking—I told you he was a dicknugget. Thankfully Nick is already halfway to Mr. Orange and doesn’t hear him.

“Maybe the fog is a good thing,” I tell him as I get up. “Maybe clarity shows you the ugliness underneath.”

“You say ugly like it’s a bad thing,” he challenges.

“Okay, now I’m confused,” Amber says with a whine. She turns to me, stuffing the last of her chips in her face. “Speaking of confusion, where did you say we were staying tonight?”

“Paekakariki,” I tell her.

She snorts. “Kakawhat?”

New Zealand place names never get old for these two. The minute I told them about a place called Whakapapa (“Wh” in Maori is pronounced as an “F,” by the way), they couldn’t stop laughing for minutes. “It’s a little beach town outside of Wellington. I’ve booked us a hostel there so we can get a short break from the bus.” Before they can ask, I say, “Don’t worry, you’re in a dorm room. It’s cheap. Much cheaper than Wellington. Anyway, that’s why we’re staying there. Plus, it’s about time you guys see a real west-coast Kiwi beach.”

As we walk back to the bus, I turn and give Josh an impish look. “Did you want to try driving?”

“Uh, what?” he asks, stopping in his tracks. “Isn’t that illegal?”

I roll my eyes. “You have a driver’s license. It’s valid here, too. You just drive on the other side of the road; everything else is the same.”

“Except I’ll be sitting on the wrong side of the van, driving on the wrong side of the road, and changing gears with the wrong hand,” he points out.

“Don’t be a chook.”

“That’s racist,” he says with a face of exaggerated disgust.

I slap him lightly on the back, though I really want to slap him on his ass. “Chook means chicken.”

“Oh.” He looks at Amber, who shrugs.

“I don’t care who drives,” she says, “just don’t kill me.”

I cock my head and look back to Josh expectantly. “I rented a car in the States, drove through a part of the southwest. If I can do, I think you can do it.” I raise my brow at him and look him up and down. “Or maybe not.”

He bites the bait. “All right, I’ll drive.”

I grin at him. I’m not sure why I think this is a good idea. I guess I just want to share something with him, even as simple as driving.

Naturally Nick is pissed off, even though I can tell he’s tired of being behind the wheel.

“It’s going to take twice as long now to get there,” he says as he begrudgingly sits in the back beside Amber.

“He’s not going to drive the whole time, let him have some fun,” I admonish him.

Josh climbs into the driver’s side and tilts his chin down, looking up at me through his dark lashes. “Fun?”

I smile and shut the passenger door, snapping on my seat belt. “You can at least drive stick, right?”

“Of course,” he says, staring at the wheel and instrument panel with thinly veiled trepidation. “Herman is manual.”

“Herman?”

He gives me a grin. “Yeah, I named my VW, too. He’s a Golf though, so half of Mr. Orange’s size. Bought him last year with the money I won from an art contest.”

I’m impressed. “Nice.” I’d seen Josh’s work in his room, so I knew he was talented, but it says something when other people recognize it, too. For a moment I feel like throwing a smug look over my shoulder at Nick—he who believes the arts are a waste of time—but I keep my attention on Josh instead.

He turns the key and Mr. Orange starts with a throaty grumble. He moves his feet around and gives off a small sigh. “At least all the foot pedals are in the right spot.”

That said, we still lurch around for a moment. I’m glad we’re on a side road and not the highway. “The clutch is sticky,” I say, trying to make him feel better as Amber and Nick get tossed around in the back.

“The whole bus is sticky,” he grumbles, but his eyes are dancing and he’s looking more alive than he has all day. I settle back in my seat, my feet propped up on the glove compartment as Josh gives me a sidelong glance, not so subtly ogling the length of my legs that my shorts show off.

He catches my eye and doesn’t look ashamed to have been caught checking me out. In fact, his expression lights up. He likes that I know.

I like that I know, too.

By the time we reach the highway, he seems to have gotten the hang of shifting with his left hand and doesn’t even flinch when traffic passes on the “wrong” side.

Josh ends up taking us all the way down to Paekakariki. We spend the next three hours talking and laughing, and it’s like our own little world up here, where it’s just the two of us and the passing green scenery. There’s just something so easy about him, about the way I can relate to him and the way he relates to me. All those wicked little feelings I had about him during our night together come back with more punch.