More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,17

I regret telling her that. “It’s a soothing podcast.”

“Okay, sure,” she says knowingly, wrapping my scarf around her neck and checking her reflection in the mirror. “Let’s get some Starbucks. I don’t want to come back empty-handed.”

“You can’t avoid your mom forever,” I say. I head toward the farthest Starbucks in town, giving us a little more time.

“And you can’t avoid your feelings for Luke. But I’m glad you’re hanging out. Even if it’s only homework,” she says, a too-knowing tone in her wording. “It’s about time you figure out what he’s really like.”

I don’t say anything. She’s right even if I’m not ready to admit it.

7

LUKE

Glancing at the clock for the hundredth time—Now I’m only fifteen minutes early—I finally turn off the car engine and check my phone compulsively before dropping it into the center console and rubbing my sweaty hands down my pant legs. This is only a homework assignment. Be cool, Luke. I walk up Vada’s driveway and rap a knuckle on the door before shoving my hands in my pockets. An older version of Vada answers the door. Youthful looking, but softer, as though through a slightly off-focus lens, and with wavy dark hair half pulled up off her smiling face.

“Welcome, Luke! Come in!” She opens the door the rest of the way and reveals Vada behind her.

“Hey, you’re early.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Mum’s rule. Show up early and always introduce yourself to parents.” I turn to Vada’s mom. “I’m Luke Greenly. Nice to meet you, Mrs.—uh—shite. Shoot. Carsewell?” I finish.

“You started off well,” Vada quips, eyes dancing.

“You are too cute,” her mom says, and my face is officially on fire. “Call me Mary. Everyone does. For the record, though, I go by Carsewell. Just easier.”

“Right. Of course.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luke. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?” I ask, surprised.

“Of course, Vada’s always—”

“Mom,” Vada interrupts. “We should go. Traffic.”

“Another time,” Mary says with a wink. “Drive safe, Luke.”

“Of course,” I say. “We’ll be back before eleven.”

“Yes, you will,” she agrees mildly.

Vada grabs a long scarf off a hook and winds it around her neck before settling a small bag across her body and flashing me a giddy grin.

“Ready?”

“Definitely.” We walk out into the cool, damp night. It’s been steadily staying lighter as the spring days grow longer, and the sun is coloring everything in an orange glow.

I cross to the passenger side and hold open the door. Vada presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything. We get in the car, and I pass her my phone. “You can, um, play deejay, but it has to be from my playlist.”

“Oooooh,” she teases. “You don’t trust me?”

I tighten my hands on the wheel so she doesn’t see them shaking and attempt to casually exhale a slow breath before saying, in a (hopefully) offhand way, “More like my phone is hooked up to the Bluetooth. I’m afraid the most I can offer is whatever I already have.”

Vada immediately starts scrolling, and the only sound over my speakers as we wind through the streets and out of her neighborhood is the clicking of her browsing. Soon enough, she chooses some Barns Courtney and lowers her window a quarter of an inch.

“Too warm?”

“Not really,” she says, rolling her head to face me. “I just really love the smell of spring. I don’t know what you call it … unfrosting? It’s so clean and … wet.”

“Melting?”

“No. That feels mushy. I like unfrosting better.”

I pry each finger off the wheel one at a time and try to flex them into relaxing. “I’m definitely not laughing at you—inside, of course—so as to be polite, because that makes no sense.”

She slugs my arm and turns up the music. I hide my grin. Contact. Yes.

We don’t say a whole lot after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. Vada’s content to choose music, and though I’ve relaxed my grip, I’ve got both hands on the wheel, driving exactly two over the suggested speed limit in the far-right lane the entire forty-five-minute ride into the city. I’m so focused, I barely notice she smells like citrus and how it makes my mouth water. Or how the early-evening sun sets her hair on fire.

“Is it weird to drive on this side of the road?” Vada asks idly after choosing some Max Frost and fiddling with the bass before turning it down to a conversation level. The girl is goddamn meticulous when it comes to our travel soundtrack. Even if we can’t fully hear every song, she makes