“Just because I’m not driving doesn’t mean I’ve lost my manners. Ladies first.”
She smiled and shook her head as she put the key in the ignition. He jogged around to the passenger side and hopped in.
“Ready?” she asked, starting up the engine and giving it some gas.
“I’m at your mercy,” he teased.
“I’m a good driver.”
He leaned back and put his arm on the back of the seat, behind her shoulders. “I’m not the least bit worried.”
* * *
“Why do you want to study art?” James asked as he slid across the truck’s bench seat and reached over to grab a nacho from the paper plate. The movie was spectacularly bad, so they’d spent the time after the first fifteen minutes talking.
“I guess I don’t know what else I’d do with my life. My father is really happy about my choice of major, and I’m good at art. I enjoy drawing, painting, but what I like the most is sculpting, making something and feeling it take form under my hands. How I’ll shape that into something that buys groceries, I’m not sure. Dad says not to worry about it. If I’m true to myself, the rest will work out.”
He looked at her, his expression full of doubt, and she laughed.
“I know, I know. It sounds a little hippie-trippy hokey to me too, but . . . Why do you want to study business?”
“I don’t particularly. My dad said I had to pick a major that would be worth something, so that’s what I picked.” He looked at her sideways. “I’m as bad as you are: choosing my major to suit my father.”
“I can’t deny that Daddy’s pleased about the art thing, but I did it for myself too. I’m just not sure how to work out all the logistics of real life to go along with it, but hey, I’ve got four years to figure it out, right?”
“Four years that fly by,” he said sagely.
“So serious,” she teased.
“Realistic,” he countered.
She rolled her eyes. “Nuff about school. Tell me about something else.”
“What would you like to know?”
“What’s your dad like? I mean, you know mine already; I don’t need to tell you about him.”
James sobered a little. “He’s an average dad, I guess. He goes to work; he comes home and eats dinner. He watches TV, then he goes to bed. On the weekends, he argues with my mother for fun.”
“Oh, I’m sorry — bad subject.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it rough between them?”
He paused. “Yeah . . . it’s bad. I honestly don’t know how the two of them ever stood each other long enough to conceive two children.”
“Maybe it was different for them back then. Sometimes people change.” She took a sip of her drink. “What about your sister?”
“She got married last summer.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy — Navy officer. She’ll be living all over the world.”
“Sounds exciting. What does she do — she’s older than you, right?”
“She’s an accountant like Dad. She works for one of those big firms in Cincinnati.”
He paused, fiddling with the lid on his soda cup. “Let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“What do you think about the idea of blending business with music somehow?”
“I think it sounds like a great idea. People don’t usually think about those two fields going together, but music is a business as well as an art. It makes sense to me.”
“I’m not sure how all the details would work, but that’s what I would like to do — if I had a chance.”
“You’ll find a way.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“I call ’em like I see ’em. I think you could do anything you set your mind to.”
He leaned across her to put the nacho plate on the tray hanging from her window, but as he drew back, he felt her hand caress his face and turn it toward her. He stared at her a long moment, and slowly she brought her lips to his in a soft, gentle kiss. He pulled back, resting his arm against her car door to hold himself up.
“Very nice,” he crooned in a low, husky voice. “What was that for?”
Her smile was shy but eager. “I’ve never been kissed before — not like that.”
“What a tragedy.”
“I wanted to know what it was like.”
“And the verdict is . . . ?”
She grinned. “Very nice — although I think it has more to do with the person than with the kissing itself.” She kissed him again, and he sat back up straight, returning to the passenger’s side and