The air was crisp, and the smell of dry leaves wafted from the sidewalk. We got into the car without a word.
I sat in the passenger seat of the quiet car, smoothing my skirt as we drove toward the restaurant.
Our sedan’s engine stalled, leaving only the hum of the heater and the clatter of cooling metal under the hood. Damon hadn’t unbuckled his seatbelt. He sat with both hands gripping the steering wheel at the twelve o’clock position, his eyes glued to the windshield, as if waiting for the light to change in an empty parking lot.
The dashboard cast a pale blue glow on his collar. He adjusted his tie twice, his fingers lingering on the silk knot, before finally turning his head to look at me.
“Will you open the door?” I asked.
He kept his hands on the steering wheel. He tapped his thumb on the leather strap, three slow beats, then glanced at his watch, tapping the dial twice.
