Love and Other Train Wrecks by Leah Konen

Author:Leah Konen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

AMMY

5:34 P.M.

WE STAND OUTSIDE THE MUSEUM, IN THE BITTEREST cold, easily the coldest it’s been all day, staring at an empty, desolate parking lot. It’s dark out now, the only light coming from three sad streetlamps that only really serve to remind us that, yes, it is still snowing, the flakes glistening in the dim cones of light.

“You’re sure someone’s coming?” I ask again.

“I’m sure,” Noah says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.

“You’re sure the guy didn’t just tell you that so we’d leave and he could close up the place early? He really looked like he didn’t want to be there, if you ask me.”

“I’m sure,” he says again.

I’m about to say that he was sure about a lot of things that didn’t quite pan out, but then he steps closer, wrapping me in a side hug, running his hand up and down along my arm like he did before. Except now I can feel the whole side of his body against mine. Now my heart is beating so loud I’m sure he can hear it through my wool coat.

“There,” he says, pointing across the parking lot as a boxy car pulls in and makes its way straight toward us, its headlights blinding against everything else.

Instantly, Noah drops his hand and takes a step away from me. Like the car shocked him out of whatever that was. Like it reminded him that this whole trip is just a pit stop on the way to our real lives.

And I hate to admit it, but I wish she’d given us just one more minute.

I wish his arm was still around mine.

The car turns, pulling up so it’s parallel to the curb where we’re standing.

I notice the red hair before I notice the put-out expression.

“Why am I not surprised that it’s you two?”

Shockingly—or not so shockingly, given that we are in a tiny-ass town whose name I don’t even know—it’s none other than the waitress from the Main Street Café.

Noah breaks into a grin. “Sorry to drag you out here . . . did you miss us?”

I smile, trying to be polite. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

The waitress’s sour look dissipates. “No problem,” she says matter-of-factly. “Now get in before you freeze your asses off.”

Noah takes the backseat and leaves me the front. I can’t decide if he’s being chivalrous or if he’s defying traditional gender roles by encouraging me to sit up front.

Her car is a forest-green old Mercedes with tan leather interior and a Jack Russell terrier bobblehead on the dash. She flips through the radio stations, settling on some kind of hip-hop.

Before I do anything else, I grab the bar beneath the seat and give it a tug, scooching it up as far as I can while still being somewhat comfortable.

“That enough space?” I ask Noah.

“You’re the best,” he says.

My heart flutters, and I curse myself for being so freaking cheesy about everything.

“Where are you guys going?” the waitress asks. “Bobby said it wouldn’t be more than five minutes?”

Noah leans forward, taking charge.

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