The Hidden(26)

Wind blew through the half-opened windows. My ponytail swayed with the breeze, and a few stray strands whipped across my face. I tucked them behind my ears as best I could, trying to look anywhere but at Thomas. I used the opportunity to check out his car again, and more thoroughly this time, since I wasn’t distracted by phantom cupcakes. The interior was just as meticulous as the exterior, and everything was black, from the leather seats, to the carpet, to the dashboard.

I glanced up at him out of the corner of my eye. “What kind of car is this?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “It’s a nineteen-seventy Chevelle SS.”

I turned away, looking at the blur of trees out my window. “I don’t speak car, so I have no idea what that means, but…it’s nice.”



He laughed, and the sound startled me. I turned back, taking in the sight of his hair blowing in the wind and the huge smile on his face. He looked so carefree. And his laugh…oh, Lord, his laugh. It melted my heart a little and chipped away at the carefully constructed wall I’d built.

I quickly looked away, before the rest of it came crashing down around me. My eyes settled on my door, noticing it didn’t have power windows, but one of those old-school cranks. It was hard to imagine a time where every car was like that, a time without the modern conveniences of today, where everything was available at the push of a button. The thought made me check out the radio, thinking I would find something equally outdated.

My brows pulled together as I stared at the white rectangular box protruding from the radio. “Is that…?” I leaned forward to get a better look. “Is that an eight-track?” I glanced up at Thomas incredulously.

He smiled. “I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

I shrugged. “Never seen one in person, but that’s just… Wow.” I had no words. I mean, seriously, an eight-track player? That thing belonged in a museum, not in a car. “Does it still work?”

He laughed again, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight and sound. My stomach did a little flip, and I frowned.

Damn it, why does he have to be so cute?

“Yeah, it still works. You want to listen to it?”

I grinned. “Sure.”

He pressed a button and turned up the volume. An acoustic guitar strummed a soft melody, filling the speakers. I immediately recognized the tune and smiled as the guitar picked up speed.

“Zeppelin. Nice choice,” I said, as Robert Plant starting singing.

His brows lifted, but he didn’t say anything.

“What? Are you surprised I know this song?”

He shrugged. “A little.”

The drums kicked in and I stared at Thomas, who was completely at ease, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as the wind disheveled his hair. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen. I hated to admit that I kind of liked it.



Gas sloshed around as I tried to lift the can up to my car’s hatch. A few drops splashed from the nozzle, dripping onto the ground. I grunted and tried lifting it again.

Thomas stifled a laugh. “You sure you don’t want any help with that?”

I can do it myself, you smug son of a–

“I’ve got it,” I muttered, trying and once again failing to get it high enough to pour. “Damn it, why’d you have to fill it up all the way? It’s so…” I grunted again, using all my strength to lift the giant container. “Heavy.”

He exhaled a sharp breath. “Let me help you.” He reached out and tried to take the gas can from me.

“No.” I yanked it back. “I don’t want your help.”

He reached out again, pulling on the handle. “Don’t be ridiculous, just let me–”

Gas flew everywhere, splashing on the ground and spraying our feet and legs. “Look what you did!” I shoved the can into his hands. If he wanted to pour it so bad, I’d fucking let him.

He scowled and took the container. “What I did? If you’d just let me pour it in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened!” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Jesus Christ, when did you get to be so stubborn?”

What was that supposed to mean?

An odd expression flickered across his face as he effortlessly lifted the container up to my car’s gas hatch and began pouring. I heard a few glug glug’s before the stream became silent. The tension grew as the seconds passed. I was just about to apologize for yelling at him when he withdrew the can’s nozzle and tightened the lid back on the hatch.

“You can start your car now,” he said in a clipped tone, keeping his eyes down.

He’s mad at me.