Grumpy. I was annoyed. Immensely.
He looked at me, a sort-of smile - a cross between 'Please don't bite my head off' and 'Hey beautiful'.
I refused to step out of my angry shell. I was (foolishly) adamant on staying angry. And it wasn't even at him.
"Let's go for a drive."
The air-conditioner was too cold. The air freshener too strong. Why is the car so noisy? He injects my grumpy silence with stories of difficult clients and pretty streetlights. He winds down the windows and turns off the air-conditioner. We drive some more and watching the city go by actually makes me a little happier.
But just a little.
He lets me choose which roads to take because he knows I like things to go my way - Yes, I can be a brat like that. And we look at more buildings. He points out the scenery and how pretty it is. We imagine owning our own studio and all the things we could do with it. We talk about his next gig on Sunday. Sunday? Next Sunday, he says. And I mentally take note and see if I can swing by to see him play the guitar. Sometimes I think his band makes too much noise - but he knows I'm proud he's part of it.
And then he squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. We talk some more about cars and the weather (I hope it rains, I tell him). I still want to be angry but I can't quite remember what for.
He asks me, "Which road you want to take?" I point to the left.
I went home. More happy, less angry. Because he just knows me.