Wednesday, 22 August 2012
(Picture courtesy of Hippy Motors - do check out their brilliant website!)
Hands on hips, he arched one eyebrow.
“What’s your car called? Does it have a name?"
“Maisy,” she giggled, but bit her lip, a painful blush creeping cell by cell across her face. “Why?”
“You just strike me as the sort of person who’d give their car a name.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? But she didn’t ask; civility stayed her tongue just as surely as it hadn’t restrained his. He turned away to talk to someone else as she went sprawling, floundering into a quagmire of self-doubt, her foolishness stripped bare by his cynicism. What did he mean? She tried to laugh it off, but she knew she’d be chewing over his words for weeks.