Midnight Valentine(25)

Seaside is one of those towns whose sidewalks curl up when the sun goes down, and tonight is no exception. The boulevard is deserted. The only thing keeping me company are the moths dancing silently around the streetlamps overhead. I walk, unhurried, absorbed in thought as I listen to the distant boom of the surf and the crickets’ serenade, the music of the night.

You’d love it here, Cass. You’d love it so much.

Out of nowhere, a classic black Mustang blasts past at top speed, engine rumbling like a wolf’s growl, the draft in its wake blowing my hair and skirt sideways. About fifty yards past me, the driver slams on the brakes. The car screeches to a stop in the middle of the street. Then it sits there, engine idling, brake lights glowing red in the darkness, steam billowing from the tailpipe like smoke from the nostrils of a dragon.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter, knowing exactly who it is.

The car shifts gear and slowly begins to reverse.

When the Mustang has backed up far enough so it’s beside me in the street, it stops. The passenger door pops open and swings wide. Theo’s eyes glint in the dim interior—he’s leaning over the seat, looking out at me.

Waiting.

After a moment’s hesitation, I get in, pull the door shut, and pretend this is all no big deal by checking things out.

Like the outside, the inside of the car is pristine. I could eat right off the dashboard, and I’d be shocked if the ashtray has ever been used, even to hold coins. There’s not a speck of dust or a stray hair in sight. He must keep a vacuum in the trunk.

But even in such a sterile environment, his mark is unmistakable. A blues station plays softly on the radio—some siren with a whiskey-soaked voice croons about lost love—and the air is warm and smells like him, soap and leather and brooding masculinity, a hint of forest at night.

Maybe he’s a shape-shifter, a lone wolf who hunts in the woods when the moon is full.

I need to stop watching the Syfy channel.

I blurt, “I’m sorry I cursed at you this morning. That wasn’t nice.”

Theo exhales in a big gust, like he’s been holding his breath. Then he puts the car into Drive and we start moving, at a much slower pace than he was driving before. A small silver medallion swings from a chain on the rearview mirror, winking in the light. It’s a patron saint medal, but I can’t tell which one.

My curiosity about him intensifies.

Is he religious? Did he have a spiritual conversion after his accident? Or is he like me, a former believer who keeps the medal as a reminder of his lost delusion that somewhere out in the universe, someone actually listens to our prayers?

I glance over at him. In the shadows, his profile is all hard angles, from the slash of his nose to the hard edge of his jaw. He appears tense and uncomfortable, and I wonder why he bothered to stop when he’s so clearly aggravated by my presence.

“I wish I knew why you don’t like me.”

Startled, he blinks. He looks over at me with an expression of anguish that’s so raw and vulnerable, I know what I’ve said has hurt him, and also that my assumption he doesn’t like me is true.

Those two things together don’t make any sense, but nothing about this man makes sense. Every interaction I’ve had with him so far has confused and frustrated me. He’s like a puzzle missing so many pieces, it can never be solved.

I continue with my confession, because the dark has a way of coercing them.

“I’m a very likeable person. At least I think I am. I’ve never had an enemy in my life. I’m actually a bit boring—my idea of excitement is binge-watching a new series on Netflix. So imagine my surprise when a complete stranger takes an obvious and intense dislike to me before I’ve even spoken a word to him. Imagine how small and hurt that would make me feel. Not to mention really fucking pissed.”

He looks at me like I’m stabbing him in the gut with every word.

“I know. It’s not fair. We’re in a confined space, I’m doing my famous verbal diarrhea thing, and you can’t respond. And I cursed again. Which is an unusual thing for me because I was trained from birth by a mother too concerned with other people’s opinions that only classless women with inferior vocabularies ever use foul language, but honestly, the word ‘fuck’ is so useful for so many different situations I can’t resist the occasional slipup.”

I pause to take a breath and sort my thoughts. “Where was I? Oh, right. You not liking me and me not liking that.”

Poor Theo looks like he’d rather be sitting in an electric chair than the driver’s seat, but too bad. This is my opportunity to vent, and I’m taking it.