AmyThe way he feels.
The way he tastes.
The way he sounds.
We’re heading east on Interstate 94, and I suspect that we’re taking a flight somewhere until we pass by the airport. As we drive into Detroit, I start to see the signs for the bridge to Canada.
“So, Canada?” I ask.
“Yep,” Landon replies, squeezing my hand.
I’m excited. Canada’s just an hour east of Ann Arbor and is really popular with freshmen and sophomores at school, given the nineteen-year-old drinking age of the country. Megan and her group of friends have already driven to Canada a couple of times, and we’re just a month into the semester. She raves about the clubs right across the border. I imagine that it’s totally Megan’s scene, and although I’m sure it’s fun, it’s not what I imagined for our romantic weekend.
“Don’
