Page 47 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
I nod and then pass her my phone. “Pick some music for us.”
But she holds the phone back up for me. “Passcode?”
“One, zero, two, eight,” I say.
She types it in and begins scrolling; five seconds later, the Beatles blare to life over the speakers. A smile curls at my lips before I even realize it’s happening.
“A strong start,” I say, throwing a glance at her before turning my attention back to the road. The Beatles are high on my list of favorites, and a faint sense of curiosity blooms somewhere in my chest. What else is she going to play?
We make our way to Crow Point over the course of three Beatles songs, India singing along the entire way—to the western outskirts of Lucky, up into the foothills of the Rockies—and by the time she picks up my phone to find new music, I’m much more interested than I should be. I wait with bated breath as she scrolls, little flicks of her finger, until finally I hear a little “Ooh!” and a second later Steam comes on.
She knows every single word to “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.” After that she chooses “Build Me Up Buttercup,” and she knows those words, too.
“I think we might be soulmates,” I say faintly.
“What?” she says, her voice loud over the music. Her speaking voice is a nice reprieve from the singing along—professional vocalist she is not—but I just shake my head, something warm spreading through me. It’s giddy, like building laughter, but deeper than that, too.
“Nothing,” I say. I roll the windows down, because the evening is warm and the music is loud and the mountains are gorgeous and this feeling in my chest—it doesn’t want tostayin my chest or even in my car. So I roll down the windows even more and soak up the sound of her off-key singing, all the way to Crow Point. And I wonder—tonight, as I’m inevitably being kept awake by the songs marching through my head, will it be the Beatles or Steam or the Foundations I hear, echoing through my mind?
Or will it be her?
FELIX
India saidCrow Point was a popular spot for couples, but as soon as we arrive, it becomes clear that she could have been more specific.
Thisisa popular spot for couples, yes…to make out in their cars.
The parking lot is really just a long strip of gravel with railroad ties threaded down the row, and based on what I can see, parking etiquette seems to be similar to that of the urinals in the men’s restroom.
Don’t be weird and take the urinal right next to someone else. Likewise, don’t park right next to another car if you can avoid it. The rules are clear. So I pull into a spot with empty spaces on both sides, killing the engine. The music shuts off, plunging us into the silence of a Rocky Mountain evening.
“Well,” I say, trying not to feel awkward. “Shall we?”
But India doesn’t seem to feel any awkwardness at all. “Yep,” she says, unbuckling and then hopping out of the car with ease. I follow her lead and get out too, my feet crunching on the dirt and gravel as I make my way around the car.
“Wow,” she breathes, hands on her hips as she surveys the view.
Wowis right. Below us sprawls Lucky and Boulder and then more beyond that, as far as we can see. The setting sun makes the city lights glow, a glittering sea of white and orange, strands of red along the major roadways.
“All right,” I say with a nod. “I get it.” I inhale deeply, smelling that sweet pine needle scent—the dusty, warm, sun-soaked scent I associate with Colorado.
“I’ve never actually been up here,” India admits. “I’m glad your phone led us to the right place. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“It really is.” I turn on my heel and grab my camera from the back seat; it’s getting darker by the second, and while I took some basic photography courses in school, I’m not the most professional guy around. So I snap my pictures before the light is gone completely, waving India out of the way so I can get a clear shot of the valley. I take a few of the mountains behind us, too, the craggy-barked trees and ancient rocks.
And then, because she’s silhouetted perfectly against the sky as she balances on a railroad tie, because the light is just right and it would be a shame to miss, I snap a picture of India too.
Just one. I’ll delete it later, I’m sure.
When I’m done taking photos, I deposit my camera back in the car. Then I give the hood a thump. “What do you think?” I say to India, who’s still standing on a railroad tie. “Should we hop on?” I gesture to the SUV.
India nods and steps down from her railroad tie.
“Do you—” I say, about to offer her help, but she bounds over to the car, puts one foot on top of the wheel, and then hoists herself up with ease.
“Never mind, then,” I say under my breath. I do the same on the other side; the hood is a little dusty, but India doesn’t seem to care. She scoots back until she’s able to recline against the windshield, her head tilted back, her red ponytail pushed up and falling around her.
I settle myself next to her, making myself as comfortable as possible, and for several moments, neither of us speak. The glass and metal are warm underneath me, and although it’s no feather bed, I think I could sleep here if I were tired enough.
