Page 10 of Paint Our Song

Still, there’s a nagging voice in his head, and it sounds a lot like Gabby telling him that Calvin’s not that bad. That he should turn around and offer him help, because he doesn’t deserve to be crowded like this on what could be the worst day of his life.

Miles crosses the intersection and looks at the dashboard mirror only to see a family joining in on the crowd.

Fuck.Fuck.

He should at least offer him a ride, even if only to make up for yesterday’s mishap.

Miles takes a moment to recompose himself, then makes a u-turn. Then he drives back toward Calvin’s direction, slowing down as he approaches the small crowd.

“Calvin!” he calls, putting on the most forced and widest smile he can muster.

Calvin doesn’t turn to him, his voice drowned out by everything else. Okay. That’s probably his sign to give up, but he’s already here, so might as well push it. Besides, Calvin seems like he’s in actual pain by how one of his fans tug at his arm.

Miles says, louder, “Hey, Calvin!”

Finally, Calvin’s attention snaps to Miles. Their eyes meet and he stiffens.

“Want a ride?” Miles asks.

“Ah, hi,” Calvin says, curtly, which is such a non-answer that Miles doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Miles. From the inn.”

“Yeah… I know.”

There’s another phone in his face, and he smiles at it as a teenager takes a photo.

Miles waits, letting the awkwardness seep in as Calvin looks at him again with a somewhat desperate expression. He can practically see the cogs turning in Calvin’s brain as he shifts his attention at the crowd, then at Miles, then back again. It hurts Miles’s pride, just slightly. He’s acting like he has to choose between a rock and a very hard place.

“Excuse me.” Gently, Calvin takes the hand off his arm.

There are disappointed looks all around and one more personforces a final selfie from him, then Calvin circles around the car and gets into Miles’s passenger seat. Miles gets a whiff of vanilla, and it catches him completely off-guard.

Calvin murmurs, “Thank you. You can… drop me off maybe two blocks away, whichever direction you’re going.”

“Did you bring your car?” He steps on the gas.

“No, I walked here.” He takes his sunglasses off and hangs them on his collar.

“I can drop you off at the inn.”

“Thank you. Sorry for the trouble. I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.” Calvin takes his cap off, then runs a hand through his hair.

“Of course someone would recognize you,” Miles says, laughing.

“You didn’t.”

He stops laughing.

“Where’d you come from?” Calvin asks.

“Oh, well.” Anxiously, he taps on the steering wheel. “I was heading to the bank, actually.”

“Isn’t that the other direction?”

“Yeah.”

Calvin meets his stare in the rear-view mirror, and it sends a chill down Miles’s spine, but he takes it as a personal challenge not to glance away. He has nice brown eyes and thick lashes, and Miles would appreciate them more if he didn’t look so pissed off.