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“I’m really sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll detail the inside for you, clean everything up.” “Don’t you apologize,” he says, practically spitting the words out. “Don’t you ever apologize to me. None of this is your fault, do you hear me? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Maxy, I’m here, wearing an omelet yellow shirt and an apron, asking you to go steady with me.”
“Careful what you wish for, Luke Kelly,” he warns, holding his hand out to me palm up across the center console. “You’d be an easy person to fall in love with.”