Page 40 of Sunset Catchers

“No. I just wouldn’t want to spook anyone with my joy.”

“Levi, you can smile. I won’t be spooked!” I don’t even know what he’s talking about. “Go on, smile.”

He smiles. Then sighs.

“You’re spooked.”

“I’m not!”

“You very clearly are.”

I realize my whole face has scrunched up, as if I’ve eaten a whole bag of sour candies. I relax my features.

“It’s just a very large smile,” I point out.

He wills his grin to be smaller.

“I need to get ready.” I turn on my feet to march back up to my cottage. I’m halfway there when Levi calls out to me:

“Are you going to ghost me?”

I roll my eyes.

“Please don’t try to ghost me, Winnie. I know where you temporarily reside!”

“You do know that you drive like a maniac, right?”

I shrug, not slowing down one bit, even if we’re rapidly approaching a curve on the country road.

“I just like to go fast,” I state. “Are you scared or something?”

“Only for my life.”

You know, I was never quite sure what the random handle in a car was originally intended to be used for, but it’s working hard for Levi today.

Just then, a car dares to pull in front of me. I hit the brake; Levi braces himself with his hands on the dash. He’s being very dramatic.

“Come on! Go faster grandpa, people have places to be. Gosh!”

“Completely unhinged.”

Levi has never been so grateful to see someone driving way under the speed limit. Even more so when the car seems to be heading to the same town as us, forcing me to trail behind it at a much slower pace.

I pull into the free parking lot Levi instructs me toward.

“See, you were worried for nothing. We made it. You’re alive.” He lets out a long sigh.

“I’m never doing this again.”

We slide out of the car at the same time. A small gust of wind has a piece of my hair getting stuck in my glossed up lips. Levi glares at my mouth as I unstick my strand.

“Lead the way big stud,” I say. He blinks then starts walking. He holds the door for me when we get to his best friend’s coffee shop.

I’m relieved to see that the place isn’t yet too crowded. If it’s anything like the coffee shops near my apartment in Montreal, this place must get packed to the brim on the weekend, with brunch culture at an all-time high. I have an aversion to feeling strangers’ body temperatures against my skin.

“Let’s go to the counter.”

Levi puts his hands on my shoulders; my body doesn’t even tense up; it stays supple under his touch. He steers me toward said counter, where a man is busy making espresso shots at a gleaming chrome beast.