My Lover or My Enemy?

Roadside

He turns right, a smooth motion that I would barely notice if not for the fact that we were on a different street.

"Hey" I say, and he breifly takes his eyes off the road to look at me and respond.

"Yeah?" He asks, sensing I have more to say.

"Thank you" I tell him. "For the vase" Thinking about it makes me feel lighter, happier, like a small sound of joy is ready to bubble out of me.

"I broke the first one" he reminds me.

I'm about to protest, to try to explain to him how much it means, to put words to the tugging feeling in my heart, when he speaks again.

"Which reminds me" he slows to a stop on the side of the road, which is empty and quiet.

"Yeah?" I ask, curious.

"Stay in here" he says, eyes sparking, motioning for me to remain seated.

"You pulled to the side of a deserted road," I remark. "This vaguely feels like the start to a horror movie. Please don't kill me"

He laughs, then, a warm, suprisingly loud sound that fills the car and assuages any legitimate fears I have.

"Well, I'm going to the truck to get my machete and body bag" he jokes, still laughing mildy. "Stay put"

I mock widen my eyes at him and gasp in fear, and he walks out back. I hear the trunk open, and then close, and then padded footsteps tell me Danny is coming back to the front of the car. There's a knock on the window, and I turn to see Danny, his face hidden behind a rediculously large bouquet.

I open the door slowly, disbelief seeming to well up in me and cut off my airways. I feel lightheaded and dizzy, and warm, warmer than I have in a while.

I unbuckle myself and step out of the car, shaking slightly.

"Danny" I say, near reverent, the word coming out a choked and strangled noise. I feel a wetness sting at my eyes, and the urge to wrap my arms around him seems to buzz in my every fiber.

"Skylar" he says, lowering the bouquet to show his face, smiling widely and burning red.

"I- I can't- I- Danny-" I stumble over my words, desperately trying to form a coherent sentence to express the gratitude I feel.

"I did promise you flowers" he says, holding the bouquet out to me. A look of pure joy is tugging at his expression, for reasons I can't even begin to fathom.

"You're-" I choke on my sentence again, and stumble fowards, smiling and trying to staunch the irrational tears welling in my eyes.

He draws closer to me, too, a soft look in his eyes. He cups my face with his free hand, and I gravitate closer to him, until our noses are brushing and the flowers are pressed in between us. For a moment, we just stand, sharing the same air, until he speaks.

"You're welcome" he says, not in a snide, unwelcoming way. He simply seems to understand my unspoken words, the sentences I was fighting to get out.

"'Thank you' doesn't even begin to cover it" I tell him, and were so close I can nearly feel his lips moving, curving in to a small smile.

Then, they're pressed against my own for a moment, nuzzling us together. Our lips don't move, just stay that way, slightly angled, almost as if we were leaning on eachother for support. It shoots me full of a feeling that reminds me of champagne, and then he's gone, the absence of the warmth like a gaping hole. He hands me the flowers, and says, hoarsely,

"We should flip the coin"

I nuzzle my face against his for a moment, brushing my lips against where his dimples usually are, and then nod.

I pull out the coin and flip, and it falls in to my shaking hand.

"Heads" I say, and we clamber back in to the car. He takes care to ensure I'm buckled up, and then heads left, one hand clutching the steering wheel and one hand wrapped around my own.