“Means it won’t be boring.”
I’m scared to ask what he means by that, so I peer out the window, fighting a smile and the ridiculous urge to believe him.“Deal,” I say, even though I’m starting to suspect I have no idea what I’ve just agreed to.
We drive in comfortable silence for a minute. Then my right eye twitches, burns, and I press my finger to my eyelid with a groan. “I can’t do it. I can’t wear them anymore.”
I fish the contact case from my clutch, unscrew the cap, and lean toward the visor mirror. One lens out. Then the other. Both dropped into solution. I squeeze drops into my eyes, blink through the sting, and the world dissolves from watercolor haze to full naked blur.
“Sorry you have to watch me dismantle myself in your passenger seat.”
“Please. I’m the guy who once livestreamed himself with toothpaste on his face for twenty minutes before anyone told me. Human moments are my brand.”
I smile, fumbling for my glasses case. “That feels alarmingly on-brand.”
The frames slide onto my nose, and finally the world snaps into focus. Then I glance over at Brody and my heart stops.
It’s not him driving the car. But a damn stranger.
Wrong face. Wrong eyes. Wrong mouth. Wrong man.
I half squeal, half scream, slamming my back against the passenger door, clutch crushed to my chest, seat belt cutting into my shoulder. “Oh my God. Who are you?”
His eyes widen. The truck jerks right, tires bumping over the edge of the lane before he swears, corrects, and pulls onto a quiet side street. He throws it into park but keeps both hands on the wheel as though he’s afraid sudden movement might make me launch myself out the window.
“Claire, are you okay?”
“No!” My voice cracks so hard I barely recognize it. “You’re not Brody!”
“No, I’m not.” That doesn’t help.
“I’m in a stranger’s truck.”
“Not true,” he insists.
“I’ve never seen your face before in my life.”
“You technically saw it thirty minutes ago.”
“I was visually impaired!”
“Right. Fair.”
My breath comes too fast. Now that I can actually see him, details start crashing in all at once. Darker eyes and hair, which is slightly shorter and messier. A crooked grin. Broader shoulders with so many muscles, except now that I’m really staring, this guy looks very similar to Brody. No wonder I didn’t see any differences through my blurry gaze.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Am I being kidnapped?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Nobody’s being kidnapped.”
“Then why are you driving me to an unknown location?”
“I’m driving you to a wedding. You asked me to.”
“I asked Brody!”
“Well, Brody wasn’t in my backyard. I was.”
I stare at him.
He glances back, hands still visible on the wheel, expression hovering somewhere between concern and a laugh.