What does that mean? Whatever. I turn around and head for the front doors in time to see Karli slip the woman some cash. The woman thanks her and scurries off.
I study Karli’s hopeful gaze as she watches the woman go. Less than two hours ago, she watched her van go up in smoke, yet she continues to give her smiles, conversation, and money to everyone she meets. And she has no idea how desirable all those qualities are to me. I don’t stand a chance of resisting her. I’m a goner.
“And you were worried you’d turn into your mother.”
She blinks and tips her chin up, the smile on her face hopeful. “I’m not so worried anymore.”
“Good. Come on.” I grab her hand again because I’m learning I have an addiction to all things Karli. “Are you ready to meet your new car? For the next five days, at least.”
“Trent?” Her tone holds an appropriate amount of caution. Rightly so. “What did you do?”
“Meet Big Bertha’s child, Baby Bertha.” I stop in front of the bright orange Volkswagen Bug. It’s not vintage like her van, but it’s close.
“Oh, my…” Karli covers her mouth with her free hand and laughs. “She’s perfect. Can I drive?”
“Of course.” I drop the keys in her hand, and she squeals before rushing to the driver’s side. Then she stops and studies the keys in her hand.
“Actually, I want you to.”
I lift a brow. “Really?”
She frowns at the car like she can’t believe she’s saying this herself. Can’t believe she’s forfeiting control over something in her life. “Yeah. I’m tired. Also, I’m a little afraid I’ll kill her too.”
I round the car and pull her into a hug. “You did not kill Bertha. It was her time to go.”
She scoffs. “Cars aren’t people, Trent.”
“But for you she kind of was.”
She shakes her head, clearly still struggling with the loss. “You just drive.” She hands the keys back to me and steps out of my arms.
“Okay.” I’ll do whatever she wants.
I open the door and squeeze myself into the driver’s seat. Like literally squeeze. This car is tiny. No wonder the guy said good luck.
Chapter 22
Trent
Karlifellasleepexactlytwo minutes after we got in the car, with her head lolling to the side in a way I thought only toddlers could manage. It shouldn’t be cute, but it is and I can’t keep my eyes from finding her every twenty seconds.
I’ve been doing this semi-distracted driving thing for a while now, and it’s only gotten worse since she leaned over the console and onto my shoulder a minute ago. My foot eases off the gas a touch until I’m five miles below the speed limit. My family’s Thanksgiving meal is still nineteen hours away. I have plenty of time to go slow.
I breathe her in, the flowery scent making me lightheaded in the best way possible.
Thirty minutes later, my arm is dead asleep. I glance at the clock. It’s ten p.m. and I’m more tired than I’d like to admit after taking nearly a three-hour nap in the hotel earlier today. Was that really only today? I feel like time slows down with Karli like I’ve lived years beside her instead of only hours.
I stifle a yawn. I don’t want to wake her. I’ll be fine, as long as I can get some feeling to return to my arm. I squeeze my bicep and relax it a few times, but it doesn’t make a difference.
The car behind me honks, and I jump. Karli’s head slips off my arm, and she flies up. “What happened?”
I gently press on the gas. “Some idiot was going too slow,” I mutter, checking the rearview mirror.
“Trent?”
“Yes.”
“Were you that idiot?”
