“You’re weird,” he says, his gray eyes lighting with the hint of a smile.
No point in denying that. “Yes, I am. But why do you think so?”
He splutters a laugh. “Because no one else looks that excited about going to the DMV.”
I rock my shoulders side to side in a pathetic dance move. “Long lines? Awkward pictures? What’s not to like?”
He laughs, raw and free. Seeing this is worth making a fool of myself. He looked so sad at the store. So unbelievably sad.
I grab the loops of a shopping bag. “Have you ever had soft French cheese and marmalade?”
His expression is priceless. “What do you think?”
I cock my brow at him. “Well, you’re in for a treat. How about we grab some plates and go upstairs?” I try to sound super casual. I don’t want him to think I mean Netflix-and-chill.
Of course, I’d totally Netflix-and-chill with Drew. That would be…wow…
I’d better not think about it.
But when I look up at him, I’m pretty sure he knows I’m thinking about it. And he doesn’t approve.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Evie.”
Even though it’s the reaction I expect, it still feels like an elbow in the gut. “Sure.” I nod, shaking it off. “Sure, we can stay here. I just didn’t want to disturb Mrs. Vivian.”
Something shifts in Drew’s eyes. He looks over his shoulder toward Mrs. Vivian’s dining room and then back at me.
“On second thought,” he says, grabbing a couple of dirty dishes from the table and ferrying them to the sink. “Let’s go up. Grab a couple of napkins.”
He nods over his shoulder to the wooden, rooster shaped napkin holder in the middle of the table, and I pluck some. Drew rinses out the dishes before claiming two plates and a couple of knives from the cabinets and drawers.
“C’mon.”
Afraid to say anything lest he change his mind, I follow Drew out of the kitchen, around the side of Mrs. Vivian’s house, and up the stairs.
I have never been to the apartment above the garage, but when he pushes the door open for me, I recognize his smell. Split lumber. Clean cotton. I immediately smile.
“I love that smell.” I take a deep inhale, and turn my smile on him. Drew’s mouth turns up a little, but no light reaches his eyes. I see something like regret in their depths.
“This was Grandpa Pete’s workshop.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I know his Grandpa is gone, and maybe what I’m seeing is grief, but I don’t think so.
Drew closes the door behind him and drops his keys on a kitchen counter that runs along the west wall. “It’s not a bad thing that it was his space…”
I think he’s pausing, preparing to finish his thought, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves to the small kitchen table in the center of the apartment and carefully lays out the plates and knives he carried up.
I take my cue and set down the grocery bag and napkins. If he doesn’t want to talk about this, I’m not going to push.
I reach into the bag and set out the crackers, marmalade, and cheese. When I look up, Drew is leaning against the counter watching me. He looks exhausted.
“Are you okay?”
His expression is unreadable. “I really need a shower.”
I straighten, rethinking my intention to stay. I want to be here, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Would you rather I go?”
I watch him swallow. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Honestly?” he asks, lifting one brow to survey me. He’s not smiling. My heart sinks, but I nod.