Page 9 of When We Had Forever
“I’m surprised you came,” Michael says, ignoring the navigation screen, his foot still on the brake. “I was ninety-nine percent sure you wouldn’t.”
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s because you one hundred percent don’t know me.”
It’s a bold response, so much so that I can’t say where it comes from. If my mother could hear me, she’d faint dead away. So would Kate. Well, no. She’d give methe look.
Not this guy, though. His half smile blossoms in full. “What’s your name?”
“Mina.”
“Mina. Huh. I like that, actually. It suits you. Tiny, but impossible to ignore.Mi-na.” He infuses those two syllables with more appreciation than I knew they could hold.
To me, my name has always sounded small and stilted, a reminder of my unimpressive size. But when Michael Drake says it with his oak-paneled-rooms-and-red-leather-armchairs voice, I suddenly change my mind.
Mina. It actually has an edge of elegance. Who knew?
“Thanks,” I say. “And...youareMichael Drake, right?”
I don’t know why I ask; he can’t possibly be anyone but the pie-covered guy from yesterday. And yet I can’t quite believethiswas hiding under all that whipped cream.
His focus sharpens. “If I said no, would you get out?”
“I... Uh...” Not what I expected.
He waits, not so much as a blink to lessen the weight of those eyes on mine.
I swallow, remembering a story I once read about two wartime pen pals who fell in love by letter, neither knowing what the other looked like. When they finally agreed to meet, the woman wrote ahead to say she’d pin a red rose to her lapel, but when she boarded the train, she asked a kind, homely woman to wear the flower instead—the problem being that she was beautiful, and she didn’t want her soldier to love her because of that.
It was a test. At the station, would the soldier approach her, gorgeous but roseless? Or the plain woman wearing the flower? Would he choose beauty or substance?
This charged silence makes me feel like the soldier. Like Michael’s asking whether I got into this car because of our easy repartee yesterday, or because of that striking face of his.
“Sorry, but...” I mirror his intensity. “I’m looking for a Michael Drake. Maybe you’ve seen him? Nerdy architect guy? Likes to walk around wearing a few layers of baked goods? Maybe I should just wait out on the sidewalk. I’m sure he’ll show up eventually.”
I fumble for the door handle, not at all certain he’ll stop me, immensely grateful when he reaches across to still my hand.
When I turn back, he’s leaning close. He breaks into a smile, which has roughly the same effect as the sun emerging from behind a cloud.
My breath dwindles. I forgive the fact that he apparently has no plans to depart my personal space anytime soon, because he smells incredible. Like the mossy forest after a drenching rain, when the world glows fresh and quiet, the woods still waking after the fury of the storm. He smells like the beginning of something. Like the start of a new day.
“I guess I’m Michael, then,” he says, soft and smoky. “No need to get out.”
“Oh. Good. Iwaskind of looking forward to seeing what this car can do.” Amazingly, I sound all kinds of casual. Inside, I can’t help but marvel at how his name doesn’t suit him.
Michael. It’s biblical. Angelic.
Aside from the golden hair, this man possesses exactly zero angelic qualities. In fact, looking at him makes me want to commit a cardinal sin at the earliest opportunity.
No, it doesn’t, I tell myself.Patrick.Great-aunt Rosalie. All I need is a ride. And not the X-rated kind.
Michael doesn’t encourage a return to rationality by moving away, though. His gaze lances into me, and every cell in my body responds, a crowd of a million heads all swiveling to fixate on the same thing.
I gulp. “Do you always look at strangers this way?”
His lips quirk. “What way?”
Like you’re examining their soul, I almost say, but there’s no way that won’t sound ridiculous, so I settle for “Like you know them as well as you know yourself.”
“Of course not,” he says. “I’m not a creep. Despite what your friend said.”
