Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Didn’t you move into your current place like two years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you supposed to get a new ID with your new address within like, ten days of moving?”
“Also yes.”
I gasp in mock dismay. “Colin Walsh. You are not the rule follower I thought you were!”
He rolls his head slightly to give me a baleful look. “You, of all people, who were there on my wedding day, know that an out-of-date ID is the least of my worries when it comes to following legal technicalities.”
True. Very true. I hold out my hand. “Let me see your ID.”
“Why?”
“I’m bored. I want to make fun of your picture.”
He rolls his eyes but complies and pulls his ID out of his wallet.
I study it. “This is so weird.”
“Why?”
“You’re not smiling in your photo. I barely recognized you without your usual cheerful grin!”
He attempts to snatch it back, but I pull it out of reach and study it closer. “Let’s see, hair, black. True. Eyes, blue. Yup. Height and weight seem about right. And ooh, you used to live in Midtown. How was that?”
He doesn’t bother to respond.
I tilt my head at the ID, trying to figure out why it seems a little off to me, even though the info is all correct, save the outdated address, and the picture is about as decent as a DMV photo can ever be.
Then it hits me.
“This isn’t a driver’s license,” I say, turning toward him. “It’s just a photo ID.”
“I know.”
“Where’s your driver’s license?”
“I don’t have one.”
I sit up straighter. “What do you mean, you don’t have one? Everyone has one.”
“Not in New York, where almost nobody has cars.”
Fair point. In California, it’s almost unheard of not to have a car, even in a city with good public transportation like San Francisco. In Manhattan, almost nobody has a car.
“Still,” I say. “There’s a difference between not having a car and not being able to drive a car because you don’t have a license. Did you let yours expire or something?”
“Never had one,” he mumbles, starting to pull his phone out again.
I grip his wrist. “Wait, you’ve never had a driver’s license?”
“I’ve never had an American driver’s license,” he clarifies. “I had an Irish one. In my teens.”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me you haven’t had a valid driver’s license in over ten years?”
He shrugs, but I don’t let it go. “You seriously haven’t driven in over ten years?”
“That is correct.”
“But—” An awful thought occurs to me. “Oh. Colin. Is it because of your parents, because of how they—”
“No,” he interrupts. “Their accident was just a couple of years ago. My aversion to driving in the States started long before then.”
“How. Why? This makes no sense to me.”
He lifts a shoulder. “It’s just … when I first got here, I was fully aware of just how daunting driving in New York was for people new to the city.”
“True. I grew up here, and it still terrifies me,” I admit.
“Precisely. Now imagine if you grew up driving on the other side of the road. Let’s just say Manhattan was not exactly the type of place I wanted to practice driving backward.”
I tap his ID against my palm for a moment then hand it back to him.
“That’s it?” he asks sarcastically. “No more snide jokes?”
“No more jokes,” I say pleasantly. “Do you have any plans this afternoon? And tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because, hubby. You and I are going Upstate for a little weekend getaway.”
“No.”
“Non-negotiable,” I say pleasantly.
“Why would I agree to that?”
“Because you owe me,” I say, not above playing the Rebecca card. “For failing to mention you were engaged. For three weeks.”
He hesitates, as I knew he would. His starchy moral code won’t let his conscience off Scot-free on that one.
“What’s Upstate?” he asks warily.
“Wide open roads.”
“For what purpose?”
“Oh, I think you already know,” I say, standing up as my number is finally called. But just in case he doesn’t already know, I turn back and give him a wide smile. “I’m going to be the best driving teacher you’ve ever had.”
Colin’s groan follows me all the way to the counter of the DMV.
Chapter 22
Saturday, September 12
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” Colin says from the passenger side of our rental car.
“Don’t you want to learn how to drive?”
He hesitates. “I suppose. I just don’t understand why it has to be an extended nightmare.”
“By extended nightmare, you mean weekend getaway?”
“Same damn thing,” he grumbles.
I smile because I’m beginning to think he enjoys our banter every bit as much as I do.
“Okay, so since we left in such a hurry—”
“Whose fault was that?”
“I didn’t have time to put a road trip playlist together—”
“Thank God.”
“But, lucky for us, I do have all my workout playlists downloaded onto my phone, so we’ll have something to listen to. How do you feel about Madonna?”