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The heater was cranked.
As soon as we got in, he stopped talking.
Inside, there was only a stone-faced driver and Ethan glued to his phone.
I figured the earlier scene was just too awkward so he'd just wanted to disappear with me.
I was soaking wet. To cover the drip-drop noise and break the awkward silence, I started telling a joke,
"So, an onion, a shallot, and a garlic walk into a bar... The bartender looks at them and says, 'Sorry, we don't serve food here.'"
No one laughed.
The driver glanced at me in the rearview.
Ethan didn't even look up from his phone.
"Get it?" I added, "Because they're all... you know, food items? And the bartender thinks they're customers, but really they're just... vegetables..."
My explanation only made the silence heavier.
A weak, awkward laugh escaped me. "Hah."
Then I slumped back into my seat and said, "Just drop me off at the curb."
Ethan finally looked up.
"Why? I just bought you an outfit on my phone. You can change at the hotel."
"Hotel?" That one word lit up alarm bells in my head.
Dating equals hotel?
Ethan realized how that sounded and hurried to explain: "Don't read into it. It's my brother's birthday. I just thought a date would be good for appearances."
Right. Trust fund heir.
When someone tells me not to read into it, I absolutely won't.
I fished my flip phone from my pocket, still dripping.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"People still use flip phones?"
"Yes. My mom was about to toss it. I thought she'd be sad, so I kept it."
He blinked. "So you saved it because you were worried about your mom being sad?"
"No. I was worried about the phone being sad."
Ethan: …
