“Where are we going?” I ask, cupping my bangles in my hand and jogging after him. God forbid I jingle on the way. “I’m taking you to your lodging.” He looks like he hates the idea. I halt. “Not in that.” For a long second, I miss limos. Private drivers. He grunts and keeps going, his long lope casting lazy shadows across the gravel drive. “Suit yourself. But trust me, it’s a long hike to where you’re staying.” I remain rooted in place, arms crossed, unwilling to budge until he tells me where exactly he’s taking me. “By the way,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Your card’s been declined.”
Be nice Ford
