"I don't think of it as luck or chance, Miss (l/n). The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, 'The...
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He starts the ignition, and the engine roars behind us. He places his bag in the space behind our seats, presses a button, and the roof slowly reclines. With the flick of a switch, Bruce Springsteen surrounds us.
"Gotta love Bruce," he grins at me and eases the car out of the parking space, and up the steep ramp where we pause for the barrier.
Then we're out into the bright Virginia May morning. I reach into the glove box and retrieve the baseball caps. The Braves. He likes baseball? I pass him a cap, and he puts it on. I put mine on and pull the peak down low. People stare at us as we drive through the streets. For a moment, I think it's at him... and then a very paranoid part thinks everyone is looking at me because they know what I've been doing during the last twelve hours, but finally, I realize it's the car. Aaron seems oblivious, lost in thought.
The traffic is light and we're soon heading north, the wind sweeping over our heads. Bruce is singing about being on fire and his desire. How relatable. I flush as I listen to the words. Aaron glances at me. He's got his blank look on so I can't see what he's thinking. His mouth twitches slightly, and he reaches across and places his hand on my thigh, squeezing gently. My breath hitches.
"Hungry?" he asks.
Not for food.
"Not particularly."
His mouth tightens into that hard line.
"You must eat, (y/n)," he chides. "I know a great place near here. We'll stop there." He squeezes my thigh again, and then returns his hand to the steering wheel as he puts his foot down on the gas. I'm pressed into the back of my seat. Boy this car can move.
The restaurant is small and intimate, a wooden cabin in the middle of a forest. The décor is rustic: random chairs and tables with gingham tablecloths, wild flowers in little vases. Cuisine Sauvage, it boasts above the door.
"I've not been here for a while. We don't get a choice – they cook whatever they've caught or gathered." He raises his eyebrows in mock horror, and I have to laugh. The waitress takes our drinks order. She flushes when she sees Aaron, avoiding eye contact with him, hiding under her long blonde bangs. She likes him! It's not just me!
"Two glasses of the Pinot Grigio," Aaron says with a voice of authority. I purse my lips, exasperated.
"What?" he snaps.
"I wanted a sprite," I whisper.
His brown eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.
"The Pinot Grigio here's a decent wine, it will go well with the meal, whatever we get." He says patiently.
"Whatever we get?"
"Yes." He smiles, his dazzling, head cocked to one side smile, and my stomach clenches. I can't help but reflect his glorious smile back at him.
