“Sorry,” I gasp, brushing at his jacket. “I'm really, really sorry...” The reek of salt and vinegar has filled the car. Mmm.
That's a good smell.
“I'll have to have the car valeted.
” Eric's nose is wrinkled in distaste. “And my jacket will be covered in grease.” “I'm sorry, Eric,” I say again, humbly, brushing the last crumbs off his shoulder.
“I'll pay for the dry cleaning,” I sit back, reach for a massive chip that landed on my lap, and put it in my mouth.
“Are you eating that?” Eric sounds like this is the last straw. “It only landed on my lap,” I protest. “It's clean!”
We drive on awhile in silence. Surreptitiously I eat a few more chips, trying to crunch them as quietly as possible.
“It's not your fault,” says Eric, staring ahead at the road. “You had a bump on the head. I c
