The Amish Groom (The Men of Lancaster County #1)

“Won’t they be expecting you to go home with them?”


“Nah. I told them to go ahead, that I’d catch a ride with somebody.”

I was quiet for a moment, gesturing over toward Liz’s car, which was now sitting by itself in the next-to-the-last row. In my head, I added one more observation to the list.

Young women ask for rides from near strangers.

“I still live at home, unfortunately,” she added as we moved toward it. “It’s too expensive out here to get an apartment unless I work full time, even if I went in on a place with friends. And I’m trying to save up for a new camera too. So, there you go. At least their house isn’t far from my school, and there’s a stop for the city bus just a block away.”

When we arrived at the car, I opened the passenger side door so that she could get in.

“See? You are the most decent man in all of Orange County. I can’t remember the last time a guy opened my car door for me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I pondered that as she climbed inside and then said, “Maybe you’re just not hanging around with the right kind of guy.”

The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them, and though I was afraid I may have insulted her, she just laughed.

“Maybe not.”

I closed the door, went around to the driver’s side, and got in. As I put the key into the ignition, she placed a hand on my arm.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I will tutor you myself. When would you want to meet?”

I wasn’t so sure she was the right tutor for me, but I couldn’t exactly say that to her. I decided to go with it for now, hoping that once we spent a little time together, she would calm down and stop making me feel so flustered.

“My schedule is pretty open,” I said, starting up the car and putting it into gear. “You name a time and I can probably make it work.”

“Tomorrow at two?”

“Sure. Tomorrow at two sounds good.”

I maneuvered us out of the parking lot but had no idea where to go. “Which way? I assume you don’t live too far from here?”

“You want to go get something to eat first? I’m starving. Want some sushi?”

I had heard of sushi but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “I’ve never had that before.”

“Whoa! You have to try some!”

I hesitated, looking her way. “Doesn’t sushi have something to do with…raw fish?”

She shrugged. “Technically, sashimi is raw fish. Sushi just means ‘vinegared rice.’ But most people mean raw fish when they say sushi. Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over here and let me drive.”

“Why?”

“Because you drive like my grandma. No offense. It’s just easier this way.”

I didn’t know how Dad would feel about me letting someone else behind the wheel of Liz’s car, but Lark didn’t give me time to consider it.

“C’mon. Seriously. Pull over. You’re going to get us into an accident.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re too slow. And I’m totally starving. Pull over.”

Her impatience was making me nervous. I indicated and obeyed. A minute later we had switched seats and Lark was zooming off down the street as if we were late for the last meal on earth.





SIXTEEN


I’d been in a number of cars as a passenger before, but I’d never been in the kind of traffic Lark was zipping in and out of with not a care in the world. For her, the crowded Friday night streets of Newport Beach were apparently nothing short of ordinary, and the speed with which she took them even less remarkable.

As we drove to the sushi bar, she chattered away, volunteering that she was a junior in college, would turn twenty-one in February, was the oldest in her family, and that she had just broken up with her boyfriend, Matt, after she found out he’d been going out with other girls behind her back. I thought of my list.

People volunteer all sorts of personal information without provocation or invitation.

“He could have just told me he wanted to see other people,” she said. “That he lied about it was the worst. I asked him point-blank if he was cheating on me and he said no. I hate dishonesty in people. I really do. Don’t you?”

I had my hand on the door handle for no reason that made sense to me because a quick evacuation would have been disastrous. “Yes,” I said, my knuckles turning white.

“I mean, what’s the point in being with someone if they aren’t going to be truthful with you? I just think that’s a waste of time.”

“Ya,” I said, pressing my foot to the floor of the car to hit a brake that wasn’t there.

She turned to me. “What’d you say?”

“What?”

“You said, ‘Ya.’ ”

“Ya. Sorry, that’s yes. In Pennsylvania Dutch.”

Lark had her eyes fully off the road as she grinned my way. “What else?”

“Excuse me?”

“Say something else.”

“Less mich’s Rawd nemme.”

“That’s great! What does it mean?”

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