Page 43 of The Do-Over

“Let’s say it appears clothing was optional at that particular event. She’s topless.”

“Yikes. How do you spin that?” A drop of rain plopped on my nose.

“She was protesting breastfeeding laws? I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.” I imagined him running fingers through his hair in frustration. He hated clean-up situations. “I have to run, they’re boarding. Listen, thank you for doing this. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I’ll email you everything you need. Text me and let me know how it goes.”

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea. I’m not great at this kind of stuff.”

No reply.

“Mathias?” I pulled the phone away to stare at the screen. He’d hung up. Water splashed on my arm.

Stuffing my phone in my purse, I half jogged, half trotted down the sidewalk. But I’d only made it a couple of yards before the skies opened. Within seconds, the rain had drenched my hair. I shoved it out of my eyes and hightailed it down the street. At the next intersection, I had to wait for the cars with a green light, my shoes growing soggier by the minute.

A faded red pickup truck honked and I jumped. The window rolled down and Nate’s face appeared. He smiled and my stomach flipped. “I thought that was you. Are you going home?”

“Yes.”

Thunder ripped through the air. He popped open the door.

“Get in. I’ll take you.”

Despite the chill from the rain, my face heated, pleased and embarrassed and, okay, a little excited. I hesitated. “Are you sure? I’m going to get your seat all wet.”

“Come on. It’ll dry.” He moved back from the window, and I climbed in. “Here, give me that.” I handed him my purse, my fingers brushing his. I shivered—and not from the chill of the rain—and crossed my arms over my chest.

After setting my purse in the backseat, Nate pulled into traffic and stopped at the end of the block at a red light.

“I’m sorry if you have to go out of your way.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks. Not a big deal.”

“Were you on your way to get Lilah?” It was almost four in the afternoon, around the time I usually walked home unless I stayed later to close.

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m going grocery shopping before I pick her up.”

“Oh. That’s smart.” A sheet of rain pounded on the front window. So much so, Nate had to slow down a little because it was hard to see through it. My fingers twisted in my lap with nervous energy. “The weather forecast said it wasn’t supposed to rain until tonight.”

“The weather changes fast here. It’s different from back home.”

“New York?”

He tossed me a curious look.

“Your mail,” I said.

“Oh, yeah. Well, Houston has good weather for construction. Mostly warm days.” Lightning flashed on the not-too-distant horizon. “Except for when we get rained out.”

“Is that why you moved here? For the job?”

“Something like that. I knew a guy who knew a guy who could get me a job, and I was looking to start fresh, I guess.”

As the truck slid to a stop at the next light, I glanced around the interior—an empty bottle of water in the cup holder, loose change in the ashtray, a few Froot Loops on the floor, a booster seat in the back.

“Nice necklace.” I pointed at the macaroni creation dangling from the rearview mirror. It looked like one of the art projects from Miss Marge’s.