Free Sweet Nothing by Jamie McGuire, Teresa Mummert Page A

Bud’s junkyard. Avery stiffened at my side, craning her neck to glance over the rows and rows of dilapidated cars.
    “I knew it. You brought me here to kill me.”
    I laughed, pulling my car into line with the other vehicles, and cut the engine. As my headlights faded, a bright light from overhead shined onto the old white sheet that hung haphazardly on a stack of twisted metal.
    “Come on.” I pushed my door open and grabbed the mystery box from the back seat, along with a fitted sheet that matched the one hanging in front of us.
    Avery hesitated before following.
    Spreading out the sheet on the patchy grass in front of my car, I sank down on my knees and waited for her to join me.
    “I figured since we both hate people who talk at the movies, this would be the next best thing. We’re thirty acres from anyone in every direction.”
    “Said the serial killer,” Avery deadpanned.
    My lips formed a hard line, but it was hard to be frustrated when she was looking at me like that. “No one is going to talk through this movie.”
    She winked, nodded, and then glanced around. “This is … really thoughtful of you, Josh.” We fell silent for a moment as we listened to the crickets chirping in the distance.
    “Wait,” I said, chuckling. “I’m not done, yet.” I began to pull the wrapped plate from the basket, my stomach growling at the sight of Mrs. Cipriani’s pie. “After the movie, you’re going to pick a car.”
    “What?” She scrunched her nose as she glanced around the mass of rusted and broken vehicles.
    “Don’t worry about what they look like. I can make any one of them look good as new. These cars have been through a few drivers, but show them a little love, and they are reliable. You need something that can keep you safe. Not expensive and unreliable.”
    “We still talking about cars here?” She raised an eyebrow.
    The last thing I wanted was to remind her of Doc Rose. I knew how I looked compared to men like him. He was mature and had his shit together. I had yet to commit to a car payment, much less a girlfriend.
    “Of course … and things we hate, remember?”
    “That’s easy.” She laughed. “Next on my list is Christmas.”
    “You hate baby Jesus’s birthday?”
    She giggle-snorted. “No, I just hate the whole build-up. It never ends up the way it’s planned, y’know?”
    “Life rarely does,” I agreed. “But now you need to explain, because this confession has traumatic childhood written all over it.”
    “After my parents …” Her smile faded, and she slipped a mile away into her own thoughts. “Christmas is just a really lonely time for me. Probably not first date conversation.”
    I realized I was right, and it felt like all the blood had drained from my face. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” She waved me away, dismissing my apology. “How about, um … how about before?”
    “My mom was Jewish. The kids at school used to go on and on about their tree. Maybe I was a little jealous,” she confessed. She pressed her lips together, but then her laughter escaped and echoed throughout the salvage yard.
    It was contagious, and soon my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
    I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but the movie began, and we both turned our attention to the makeshift screen. I lay back, propped on my elbows as Avery sank down on her side and pulled the cellophane from her plate. Her eyes danced over the homemade apple pie before her smile stretched from ear to ear. She kept weird hours like me, and being single, that meant a lot of TV dinners and takeout.
    “Thank you for this.” She took a bite and hummed in satisfaction. I’d never seen a woman quite so beautiful as Avery sitting on a worn sheet in the middle of a junkyard, looking perfectly content.
    “Quinn promised you a piece of his mom’s pie for a piece of ass. I thought it was only fair that you get to try it. Just make sure you return the plate or Quinn’s mom will kick my ass,” I joked.
    She covered