EXCEPTional

Ch. 7 (Chance)

*Chance* 

      She hadn’t changed. At least, not in noticeable ways. Her hair was still blond, though it only feel to her shoulders now, so she must’ve gotten it cut. And her eyes were still green and very much still capable of glaring murderously. Her skin was fair, like the last time I’d seen her. There was that small wrinkle between her brows, just like in the picture. The tension had never left her fingers, but there was more tension in her shoulders now.

      At the same time, she had changed. She wasn’t in clothes too big for her. Rather, she had on dress slacks, flats, and a blouse that hugged her (proving her breasts hadn’t grown in size either). And the air around her was different. It wasn’t hostile, which was a complete change from before. It was lighter, easier to breathe in. Like she had relaxed into her skin and her life, as opposed to being apathetic about it.

      When she had sat in my car, it amused me wholly to watch her. It was almost as if she was turned on by the Ferrari. I didn’t get that with Adriana. Normally, she just rolled her eyes, commented on my inane love for cars, and ended the conversation. But Bridget knew cars, and I really liked that about her.

      “So, where to?” I asked, turning onto a street I knew I could whip around on if need be.

      She continually stroked the leather of the seats, and it made a corner of my mouth quirk up into a crooked smirk. Her lips pursed in thought, and I breathed in heavily. I wasn’t smelling her (although she had on a sweet-smelling perfume that made her smell rather nice); I was just enjoying the light atmosphere around her. I wasn’t about to say she was gentle—she just wasn’t as cold.

      Because a few minutes of silence had passed and she still hadn’t said anything, I suggested, “Why don’t we go to that Italian restaurant?”

      It was one of those things I just naturally recalled: that she was a fan of Italian foods.

      She quickly shook her head. “No.” She explained, softer this time, “I just went there not too long ago.”

      An eyebrow arched on my face as I gazed curiously at her from the corner of my eye. Her reaction to my offer made me think she recently had had a bad experience there. But I wasn’t about to ask—I knew how she got when she was upset. Instead, I asked, “All right, then is there somewhere else you’d like to go?”

      Bridget fell quiet again, but it didn’t stretch on. She looked to me and said, “Um, there’s a Chinese place down the street.”

      Now my eyebrow quirked in confusion. “There’s a Chinese restaurant in Brimwell?” Last I was here, there weren’t any. There was one in Bridgeville, a mere hour away, but you don’t drive out there just to eat with chopsticks. Actually, you don’t drive out there for any reason . . .

      She nodded, saying, “Yeah, they bought that fabric shop. It was failing or whatever so they bought it.”

      “And made it a Chinese restaurant,” I finished for her.

      “Exactly.”

      “Well,” I started, lowering my foot on the accelerator to speed up, “let’s go there, as I have no other ideas.”

      Her eyes darted to the speedometer, noting I was well over the speed limit. She assumed, “You aren’t afraid of speeding tickets, are you?”  

      Smirking, I told her, “I’m not afraid of anything like that. I mean, look at me.”

      Her eyes, almost accusatory, trained onto my face as she asked, “How much money do you have?”