by Rosie Danan
Josh resumed eating. “I don’t get it. Why are you so sure you can’t drive? I know you have a license. I saw it the other day when you bought wine at the grocery store.”
“I caused an accident,” Clara finally admitted, the words ripped out of her. “It was a couple of nights before cotillion. That’s like a fancy society event,” she said in answer to his blank look. “I was late to rehearsal and I was so worried that if I didn’t show up, Everett would end up escorting someone else.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Everett Bloom?”
“The one and only.”
Josh sighed. “You know, I’m starting to think that guy sucks.”
“The exit was coming up fast, and I needed to change lanes. I hate changing lanes. I can never time it correctly. In the end, I turned on my blinker and hoped for the best. I don’t recommend that strategy.”
“Hey, accidents happen.”
She struggled to control her breathing. “My younger brother, Oliver, was in the passenger seat. He ended up with fourteen stitches, a bruised collarbone, and a broken arm.”
“Clara,” Josh said gently, “even good drivers make mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” She let out a tight, painful laugh. “I’ve got terrible instincts. Whatever inner voice other people have telling them what to do, mine’s broken. Every time I try to follow my intuition, someone gets hurt. For a long time, I couldn’t get behind the wheel without hearing Oliver scream.”
She tried to shake away the memories but only managed to set flour raining from her hair.
“You’re being too hard on yourself. You were a kid.”
“I had a series of expensive instructors over the years, but it was always the same story. My father wrote me off as a lost cause. Told me to move to New York where I could take the subway and hail a cab.”
Clara’s shoulders slumped forward. “Look, I’m being pragmatic. I’ve never been able to do it before. It stands to reason I won’t be able to do it now. But I told Jill I would try, and I don’t want to be another family member who lets her down.” She stared at her plate. “I realize you have no reason to help me, that I’m already more trouble than you’d prefer, but since you haven’t actually said no yet, I’m gonna ask one more time. Please, Josh?”
He squinted at the ceiling. “You want it bad, huh?”
Visions of lurid double entendres chose that very inappropriate moment to invade her senses. Josh was sexy even when he wasn’t trying. Nothing in his body language suggested innuendo. If anything, she saw concern woven across his features. Still, his words affected her.
Please try to focus. “I feel like if I can do this, the move won’t have been for nothing. I’ll have something to show for it, even without Everett. If I can get over this fear, I can stop avoiding my mother’s calls and tell her I accomplished something.”
“Okay, fine.” Josh tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “But you owe me.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Man, you look like I just won you a giant teddy bear at the county fair.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She launched herself at him without thinking, gratitude outweighing her anxieties about touching him. Josh endured the hug, patting her head awkwardly. He smelled like an orchard, crisp and sweet.
“Okay. Well.” He detangled himself from her arms and moved to transfer some of her used pans to the sink. “I’ll do the dishes, try to minimize the damage from the flour bomb that went off in here, and then we’ll go.”
Her grin faltered. “Wait. You’re coming with me?” She really didn’t need Josh to stand witness to another humiliation.
“You didn’t think after that whole speech I was gonna let you go alone? I’ll be your vehicle supervisor.” He pulled on the yellow rubber gloves she’d bought as the sink filled with soapy water. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
She wished she could leave it, but she knew that come Monday morning, she’d have both Jill and Toni waiting for her, depending on her. Looking stupid or weak was nothing next to the idea of not meeting the expectations of people she admired. Josh already thought of her as an anomaly, an alien from Planet Stick-up-the-Butt.
Why not throw one more log on the trash can fire of her reputation?
chapter twelve
CLARA HAD STUMBLED on the one area of Josh’s life in which he had trouble relinquishing control.
“Repeat rules seven through nine one more time,” Josh said from the passenger seat of the Corvette thirty minutes later.
They’d sat in the car, in the driveway, for the past fifteen minutes while he tried to get fully on board with the plan.
Clara inhaled slowly through her nose and then repeated Josh’s “rules of the road” in the monotone of someone for whom words have lost all meaning. “No slamming on the brakes. No riding the brakes. Proper footwear must be worn at all times.” She tilted her head at him in exaggerated question, her hands firmly at positions ten and two on the steering wheel. “Can we please go? I promise I will follow all traffic laws and in no way intentionally endanger this vehicle. Under no circumstances will I engage the high beams without permission.”
At least some of the nerves threatening to eat her insides had given way to aggravation and tedium. Whether he’d suggested the rules to intentionally lure her into a false sense of security or not, they’d had that effect.
Josh buckled his seat belt and then double-checked it. “I’ve noted your lack of enthusiasm for the rules, but you may proceed.”
Not exactly a vote of confidence, but better than the alternative.
Clara gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “You’re weird in the car.”
“Excuse me? Are you choosing this moment to mouth off to the owner of the extremely valuable vehicle you’re preparing to pilot?”
“Really weird,” Clara muttered as she made final adjustments to the mirrors. She’d already set them in different positions four separate times. She started the car and the purr of the engine made her jump.
Stalling seemed like a good idea. “You know, Josh, it’s nice to see you so passionate about something. You really love this old Camaro, huh?”
“This is a Corvette,” he said, white-knuckling the armrest. “And she doesn’t appreciate being called old. Let’s get this over with.”
So much for diversion tactics. Clara braced herself and then slowly backed the car out of the driveway.
Josh’s eyes kept flickering between her face and the road.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “You’re making me more nervous.”
“Sorry.” Josh slumped back in his seat. “No one’s ever asked me to be the good guy before.”
“What do you mean?” The street they lived on didn’t attract much attention, but she needed to navigate all the cars parked along the curb. Each time she passed a new obstacle, she held her breath.
“I mean this whole situation, being the hero, the one who comes through in a damsel’s moment of need. It’s new for me. I’m finding it a bit unsettling.”
“I’m not a damsel.” Clara’s sweaty palms threatened her grip on the steering wheel. She wiped them one by one on the shorts of her overalls.
“Sure, you are. A young, unmarried woman of noble birth.”
Clara shook her head as they approached a stoplight. “Did you just quote Merriam-Webster?”
“My mom used to read us fairy tales when I was little. I looked up the words I didn’t know.”
A smile threatened the corners of Clara’s mouth until they reached a four-way intersection.
“Clara? Hey. Are you okay?
Her eyes began to water. She tried to tip her chin up without losing sight of the road.
Josh dug in the glove box until he’d removed a handful of tissues. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”
“I’m
sure,” she said, with only a hint of a tremble in her voice.
When she didn’t reach for the Kleenex, Josh dabbed carefully at her eyes, stemming the leak.
“Thanks.” Clara’s cheeks heated. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I feel like I’m close to overcoming this.” She straightened her shoulder blades. “Like if I can just reach out far enough, I can brush victory with my fingertips. That probably sounds dumb, right?”
“No. I’m pretty sure you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Objectively.” His eyes warmed in the same way they had during dinner when he’d said she looked like trouble. She didn’t have time to worry about the meaning behind that look.
“My aunt’s going out on a limb for me and I want to show up for her, you know?”
“I know,” he said. “Hey, would it help if I sang? Ya know, something soothing.” He started in on the first few bars of “Walking on Sunshine.”
Josh had terrible pitch and he smacked his hand on the armrest in his attempt to emphasize a high note, but the gesture cut through some of Clara’s numbness.
I used to think maybe you loved me . . . now, baby, I’m sure. Her heart fluttered. “You’re a terrible singer.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” He cupped a hand over his ear. “Sing louder?”
Clara tapped the brakes too hard and winced.
Josh fell silent.
They’d reached the entrance to the freeway. Clara slowed the car at the metered on-ramp, even though she knew the green light meant go.
She brought the Corvette to a halt and the car behind her honked in protest.
Clara tried to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. Each time a new horn blasted she took it like a kick to the temple. In and out. In and out.
Her hands shook on the steering wheel, vibrating so intensely the kickback reverberated in her shoulders.
“Jesus, Clara. This isn’t nerves. This is terror.” His voice wavered. “Let’s forget it,” he said gently. He coaxed her to pull onto the shoulder. “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Driving isn’t worth this.”
Clara’s teeth chattered despite the early summer heat as she set the Corvette to a crawl while other cars whistled past them. She caught Josh’s gaze from the corner of her eye. “I can do it.”
He nodded his head once, making his long curls bounce. “All right. Then talk to me.”
“What?” She shouldn’t be on the shoulder. Someone had probably already called the cops on her. Any minute now the guy in that truck would get out and get in her face.
“Focus on my voice,” Josh said. “It works on set when people get nervous. When they can’t get past the cameras and the lights.”
“This was a mistake.” Oliver’s screams started, playing on a loop along with the sounds of metal crumpling and tires screeching. She fought the impulse to plug her ears with her fingers.
“Just keep talking.”
“I’m a judgmental person,” she blurted out.
His chuckle came out in a rumble. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror. “I’m serious. I readily admit it. I meet a person, and I make a decision about their character within half an hour. I have an outstanding track record. My hypothesis is right roughly ninety percent of the time. But on the rare occasion I’m wrong, it’s a thrill. Some people are like an iceberg, with the dangerous and beautiful parts hidden below the surface.”
“Are you trying to say I’m a dangerous and beautiful iceberg?”
Clara huffed. “More like an ice cap.” Her gaze shot from the freeway to her hands on the steering wheel, and then back at the road. “I’m trying to say thanks.”
“Thank me after,” Josh said.
“There may not be an after. I think I’ve reached my limit.”
“Okay, here are our options. You can merge, or we can sit here and talk about yesterday when I had my hands on your—”
Clara pressed her foot to the gas pedal almost without thinking. Josh had managed to find the one thing that made her more nervous than driving.
* * *
• • •
JOSH HOWLED TRIUMPHANTLY, pumping his fist in the air to knock the roof of the car. “Do you see what’s happening right now? Because you, Clara Wheaton, are keeping pace on the freeway. I feel like you need to let out some kind of primal yell.”
Aside from a tiny arch in her eyebrow, Clara didn’t acknowledge him, but he noticed that her hands relaxed slightly on the steering wheel. Color returned to her cheeks. She even suggested he put on the radio, as long as he kept the volume in the vicinity of a whisper. A win if he ever saw one.
The concern that sat heavy and unfamiliar in his stomach slowly faded. He’d never dealt with anything like this with Naomi. A woman who was self-sufficient to a fault. The last time he remembered worrying about her was when she’d insisted on getting her tongue pierced on the Venice Beach Boardwalk.
After about fifteen minutes of uneventful cruising by the ocean, a familiar cluster of palm trees gave Josh an idea. “Hey, how would you feel about a little detour?”
“You mean a chance to get out of the car?” Clara laughed tightly. “Yes, please.”
“I know just the place.” Josh directed her toward the next exit and then down a few streets until they found themselves pulling into the empty parking lot of a high school.
He raced to help Clara out of the driver’s seat, mostly because he didn’t want to risk her getting a case of jelly legs and face-planting on the pavement. While her color had returned, she still had a sheen of sweat across her forehead.
When she put her tiny, clammy hand in his, he tightened his hold on impulse. She sighed as her feet met solid ground. “Please tell me it gets easier?”
His body, betraying all instruction from his brain, buzzed from the contact with her skin. “I’m pretty sure it has to.” He wasn’t positive whether he was talking to Clara or himself. As soon as she stood up, Josh backed away, out of the pull of her orbit, as she took in their surroundings.
“How did you even know this place was here?” Clara shook out her hair.
“This was my high school.” Josh greedily inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass. “My family moved here from Seattle right before ninth grade. You wanna look around?”
When she nodded, he guided her around the building. “So, what was Josh Darling like at eighteen?”
He watched, momentarily mesmerized as her long dark hair whipped in the wind. “Well, Josh Darling didn’t exist yet, but Josh Conners was your classic fuckup. I cut class so much they almost held me back.”
“Ah.” She took two steps to keep pace with every one of his. “A rebel.”
“That’s one word for it. I think the law prefers truant. You see, over there”—he pointed to a set of corner windows—“is where I served a month’s worth of detention. It took a lot of sweet-talking to get the principal to agree to let me graduate on time.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Clara tilted her head back and offered her porcelain skin to the dying sun.
“You’ve never met Principal Carlson. I tried to spin my life into a sob story, but there wasn’t much to work with. Only child, on the light side of latchkey. My parents worked all the time to pay the bills, but they’ve always been good people who loved me and I guess I never figured out how to hide that.”
Josh swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat. He hadn’t seen his parents since Thanksgiving two years back. Ever since, turkey made him nauseous.
Clara stopped walking and looked up at him. “The principal didn’t buy it?”
His chest burned as he remembered the assessment sent to his parents, left carelessly on the kitchen table waiting for him when he got home from school. Underachieving, pleasure-seeking, lazy, reckless to the point of endangerment.
That had been almost ten years ago, but he knew not much had changed. If he saw Principal Carlson again, she’d probably add to the list. Defensive, closed off, hopeless.
With a hand on her back, Josh guided Clara around a pothole. “She didn’t buy it.”
What was he thinking, spilling his high school woes to someone with a doctorate? Josh could picture her at eighteen. One of those golden girls with all of the privilege and support he’d resented his whole life.
When Clara walked into a room, people respected her.
When Josh walked into a room, people wondered why he was wearing so many clothes.
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” The words came out rougher than he’d meant them.
“I wasn’t.” Clara actually crossed her heart.
The sun slipped below the skyline and the stadium lights around the baseball field came on.
Clara wandered in that direction. “What about extracurricular activities? Did you play any sports?”
“No, but I did stay active.” He pointed to a patch of trees and a well-worn bench. “Had sex over there.” He gave a fond wave to the dugout. “Went down on Olivia Delvecchio there. Found out about squirting—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re a stud.”
“Even back then I knew where my talents lay.” He pictured his last meeting with Bennie. “Although I guess that might have been wishful thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
He lowered his chin to watch the grass grow. “Black Hat, the studio I work for, gave me a real lowball offer recently when my agent asked to renegotiate my contract.”
She’d shown him her weakness, and now he’d revealed his own. For all his big talk and his “viral” video, no one who mattered considered him worth opening up the old checkbook.