Free Between the Pages: A Novel by Amanda Richardson Page B

second to stare at the beautiful car in front of me. 
    The Mini is cherry red and fully restored to its former glory. Four seats clad in white leather. An overly large steering wheel and manual settings. The dashboard is mahogany and gleaming. I can picture myself with a scarf and oversized sunglasses, cruising down 5th Avenue.
    “I can’t believe you’re entrusting me with this beautiful specimen of a car,” I say, crossing my arms and walking over to Emerson.
    “I have really, really good insurance,” he replies smugly. 
    “What time do you need me back Sunday?” I ask, the smile still wide on my face.
    His eyes flick over my face as if he’s studying me, and I start to feel an achy feeling in the pit of my stomach. What  is  that?
    “Anytime Sunday night is fine.” He moves his lips to form a thin line, and the forehead wrinkles return. “Drive safe, okay?” he adds, his voice tender and concerned.
    “I’m an excellent driver.” I flash him a cheesy grin. He just continues to watch me with apprehension. “I’ll be fine,” I add for his benefit.
    “Thank you for all of your help this week, Finley,” he says sincerely. The achy feeling is back, and my smile lessens. I dig my hands into the pockets of my jean shorts, suddenly feeling awkward with our goodbye.
    Do I hug him? Wave? Turn and leave?
    “No problem,” I respond, biting my lower lip. I don’t make eye contact, so instead I glance around at the other car in the garage. “Looks like you’re stuck with the Civic,” I joke, and he relaxes and laughs. God, this guy is tense. “Why do you need three cars again?” I begin to walk backward toward the Mini. My knees feel kind of weak, and the achy feeling is becoming unbearable. I should probably leave.
    He thumbs his nose and squints at the Civic. “Well, the Civic is my travel car. Good gas mileage,” he adds, and I nod in return. “The Soob is for everyday. I like it. I used to have a dog, so it was great for taking him around town. And the Mini,” he grins and winks, “is just for fun.” Just. For. Fun. Emerson Whittaker is lending me his just for fun car. This whole week has been surreal.
    I also like how he’s adopted my nickname for the Subaru. Soob is so much cuter than Subaru. “I see.” I give him a tight smile and then get into the driver’s seat. Emerson opens the garage door, and sunlight floods the place. I quickly adjust the seat to accommodate my shrimpy legs, as well as the mirrors. I glance down and see a box on the passenger seat floor. When I pick it up, Emerson walks over and takes it from me.
    “What do you want to listen to?” He leans against the car and opens the box. It’s filled with cassette tapes.
    “Wow, you really kept this thing true to its time, eh? How about you put in one of your favorites.”
    He nods and sets the box back down on the floor, leaning over the ledge and placing the cassette into its slot. I turn the car on so he can push it all the way in—I see the words Fleetwood Mac on top of the tape, and hide my cheesy smile with my hand.
    “So you might be too young to remember, but when this side of the tape is over, you press eject—”
    “Let me stop you right there.” My voice is a little annoyed. “I  know  how to use a tape player. Also, excellent music choice by the way.”
    He just smiles and pushes away from the car, saluting me. I salute him back, and we both laugh.
    “Bye,” I yell as I shift to reverse. I was mostly telling the truth when I said I drive stick. I drive stick as in I’ve driven a stick once or twice. It’s like riding a bike, right?
    “See you Sunday,” he calls, and the car jerks backward. I wave again as I shift into first. This is easy-peasy lemon squeezy.
    I don’t look back at him as I slowly crawl down the street. The achy feeling intensifies as I turn the blinker on to merge onto the main road. I stay stopped at the stop sign for longer then necessary. Despite a rather rocky, tumultuous start