It’s almost as if he had said the magic words. He had, actually. I wanted him to say it again. You know, I think you’re really pretty. Thank God it’s like eleven o’clock because he’d see my cheeks if it wasn’t, and they’re turning pinker by the second.

“You’re cute,” he winked as he clicked the left turn signal on the steering wheel’s lever. I could just kiss him on the cheek for that one.

He continued to drive down the asphalt. The khaki Jeep, the classic. No one even had a khaki colored car, first of all. Jeeps don’t even come in khaki. His car was just Jeep-like, with the extra tire on the trunk door and the railings exposed like a skeleton. It was quirky, but I loved it. I loved the way he drove it.

“This is crazy, Grant,” I say as I lean back and rest my folded arms on my forehead, “and this can’t be a thing.”

“Can’t it?” He swerves the khaki Jeep to the left again. I look out the passenger window, passing the football field once again.
“We just made a full circle, you know,” I say.
“Oh I know,” he answers. “And it was actually a square.”
We drive and drive and drive around town. The lights in the town restaurants slowly went out one by one, like blowing out candles.
“It’s 11:06, Grant.” I say, shifting my gaze to the dotted red numbers by the radio knobs.
He glances over at the dashboard. “11:06 is correct.”
“And curfew was—”
“—was six minutes ago, yes, it was. But I like driving you around.” He breaks away from looking at the road to me for exactly 2.5 seconds. “Besides, you look so pretty with the wind in your hair.”
Ping. Shot with an arrow. Those words again. You look so pretty. I think you’re really pretty. Grant, geez, why you got to do this to me?

He crossed the railroad tracks and turned down his street, and rolled the khaki Jeep’s wheels onto his gravel driveway. The gears shifted to park, and he cut off the engine. Just me and him now.

Grant turned over his right shoulder to look at me. “So,” he says a little quieter.

“So,” I say back. “That was fun.”

He chuckled a little and then looked at me again. “It was.”

I stared back but immediately looked down, pulling at the string attached to my jacket’s zipper. When I looked up, he was right there. His face. Mine. So close. Those lips. How many more seconds until he’d put them on mine is all that I was thinking about.

“Madison, is this a thing?” He whispers close to me. “You and me?”

“Is it, Grant?”

“Well,” he says, running his fingers under my jaw and chills down my spine, “I want it to be.” And with that, he met his lips with mine.