I cough. “Yes.”
She laughs and sits straight in the seat. “How long was I out?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“That’s it?” she frowns.
“Sorry, I was trying not to wake you, but I lost feeling in my arm.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m kind of a snuggler.”
I know. I’ve had no objections so far. Except for the dead arm thing. “You know that’s how worms communicate. By snuggling.”
She bursts out laughing, and there goes my heart again, beating like a wild animal.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Dead.”
“You’re a weird person.”
I flinch. Not exactly the compliment I’d like from the girl I’m falling for.
“I love weird people.”
I don’t miss the word love in there, I also don’t miss how general she made it sound. Like she loves everyone who says weird things. That’s the entire human population.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“There was more construction on the forty, so we had to take a detour.”
“Okay, so where are we?” She fixes her gaze out the window like she can determine our location by the shadows of cacti and Joshua trees.
A sign comes into view just then. “Lake Havasu city it would seem.”
She looks at me for a long moment, then a smile finds her lips. “Excuse me sir, but did you just stray from our very strict itinerary?”
I roll my eyes. Clearly, there’s never been an itinerary of any kind, but if there was, I would stray from it for her.
“It’s a detour,” I correct her. “We might even save time.”
“Ah.” She nods, but she doesn’t believe me.
I wouldn’t believe me either. Even if there hadn’t been construction, I would have taken the long way home in order to spend more of these perfect moments with her. With just the two of us. I don’t want to share her with my family, with Juliet. I want her all to myself.
The Lake Havasu bridge comes into view, the lights twinkling and reflecting on the water. When I typed in the detour, an interesting landmark popped up. Siri found me an instructional video on the history behind the bridge, and now that I’ve seen it in person I’ve decided to make an additional detour.
“Have you ever been to the London Bridge?” I ask, slowing down and sliding into an open parking space.
“Well, I’ve never been to London so…”
“Good thing someone brought London to us,” I say before hopping out of the car.
“What?” she asks, not waiting for me to get to her door.
I grab her hand and casually walk with her down the boardwalk.
“In 1962, the London bridge was sinking, so some guy bought part of it and shipped it here, brick by brick. So, darling”—I channel my best British accent and lead her up the bridge—“welcome to London.” For the record, all my knowledge on the subject comes from a random dude on YouTube. But I like the story so I’m keeping it.
