A ride home

by Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy
originally published at 09:44PM on Tuesday, December 11, 2007

He gave me a ride home that evening, and we had the radio on. I couldn’t believe he was besides me singing my favorite song so horribly out of tune. He apologized for it, and I laughed. All that mattered was that he was here with me—not any other girl. He dropped off the other two who lived minutes from him before he dropped me off, the one who lived 30 minutes away. He pulled away right as they stepped out of the car, leaving us to talk.
We were close friends: laughed, had deep talks, and flirted carelessly. People wondered why we haven’t dated. Harass him not me, I’ve wanted him for years.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. This wasn’t a dream.
We pulled in front of my house, and I thanked him. He smiled at me. I jumped out of the van and walked towards the garage with him sitting at the foot of my driveway. I opened the garage, and he was still sitting there in his car. Until I walked into the house and pressed the garage closer, I still saw the tires of his van sitting there.

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