GIF or the meme in the comments over and over. It got to the point where I hated even opening YouTube, so I quit posting videos. Then I deleted my channel completely.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I had no idea that I’d cost you so much.”
“You didn’t. I sing now for friends and family. Like at Christmas and stuff. But I worry about having another viral moment and someone doing some digging and finding my connection to Gabi the Meltdown Girl, and it makes me tired. So I don’t sing anywhere else. I don’t want to. I’m good with it.” I meant it. Even the thought of singing for anyone else besides the people closest to me made me feel panicky.
“That doesn’t seem right,” he said. “I only heard you sing part of one song, and I couldn’t get enough of your voice. I woke up wanting to hear it again. Immediately. Other people should hear it.”
I shook my head. “You’re thinking like a rock star. I’m seriously fine if no one but the people closest to me know I can sing.”
“I...can’t imagine that,” he confessed.
“I know. Your voice is a commodity, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But mine’s only for me.”
“And me sometimes?” he asked.
“And you sometimes,” I said, smiling. “If you’re good.”
“What about today on the stairs? Was I good?”
“Pretty good.” I smiled wider.
“Good enough that you’ll sing with me? Do our own carpool karaoke?” He was already reaching for my phone. “What’s your passcode? I’ll find us something good.”
“You can’t have my passcode,” I told him.
“Why not? You already made out with me. Are you saying your passcode is too intimate? You can have mine,” he said, rattling it off.
“We’re at passcodes already?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“I am. I can wait for you to catch up, but basically we’re at stage four of modern love.”
“Fascinating,” I said, every single molecule fluttering that he’d used the word “love.” “What are the first three?”
“I ask you out. Which I did a million times. You say yes. We have a good time. We kiss. We do that a bunch. Then I call you my girlfriend. Then we trade passcodes.”
“I disagree with stage three. It needs editing.”
“Calling you my girlfriend?”
“Yeah. You can’t just go around saying that.” I worked hard to keep my tone neutral so he wouldn’t know how hard I was fighting not to smile.
“You don’t want to be my girlfriend?”
“I’m saying that requires a discussion,” I informed him. “I’m not into unilateral decision-making.”
He dropped his head against the seat and groaned. “Anneke is going to love you.”
“Excuse me?” Hers was not the name I wanted to hear at the moment.
“Vocabulary nerds. Both of you. Hang on.” He pulled out his phone and tapped out a text, reading the words as he typed. “My...girlfriend...just...accused...me...of...unilateral... decision-making.”
“I’m not your girlfriend,” I told him. Even though he’d just called me that to Anneke. Even though it had felt so good to hear him say it.
“Okay, but what if you are my girlfriend in my mind?”
“Then you’re delusional.”
“What do I have to do to change your mind?”
“Probably ask.”
“Ellie?”
“Yes?”
“Are you always going to be this difficult?” He sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
“Yes.”
“Good to know. Ellie?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
“2769.” It spelled CROW.
“What?”
“That’s my passcode.”
He busted out laughing, and the sound of it made my cheeks stretch into a bigger smile than I’d even thought I could make.
“I want to kiss you stupid right now, but since you’re still driving, I’m settling for karaoke.”
“Okay, but the real reason I didn’t want you to have my phone is because I don’t want you to see how many times I’ve played all your songs. It’s embarrassing.” But I was still smiling. I didn’t care if he knew anymore. He was my boyfriend.
He set my phone down. “That deserves a serenade. What can I sing for you?”
“Can’t Hide,” I said. I didn’t have to think twice about it.
He slid his hand into mine where it rested on the console between us and pressed a kiss to the back. “Don’t need the filter, just looking for real,” he sang softly, and I let the sound of his voice, stripped down but still warm and gorgeous, curl around me in the car. When he got to the chorus, I joined him, blending my voice with his.
His eyes widened but he kept singing, and I could feel his eyes on me the whole time as our voices wove together.