The engine turned over and Metallica blasted from the speakers. “Oh, shit.” He hit the power button on the radio, and the car fell into silence. “Sorry.” She stared at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, for a second, then burst into laughter. “Why do you look embarrassed? I play my music loud all the time.” “Yeah, well… When I’m alone it’s different. I hadn’t expected anyone to be with me when I got back in the car.” Until last night, he’d forgotten how awesome it could be to drive down the road with the wind whipping through the car, music blaring, not a care in the world. A simple pleasure he’d recreated on the ride back to Anticue this morning. He couldn’t see through her sunglasses, but he felt her gaze on him, studying him. “You don’t strike me as a Metallica person,” she said. “What would you have expected?” “Classical.” “Classical?” He nearly choked on the word. Disgusted, he shook his head and slipped on his sunglasses. Backing out of his spot, he asked, “Which way to the coffee?”
