The Songs in Our Hearts: A Young Adult Romance(22)

Everything was dark. The parking lot streetlights had burned out a long time ago. Micah parked toward the very back where a sea of grass met concrete. He shut off the car and lifted the soda bottle to his lips.

“So…” He rubbed his hands on his thighs.

“So,” I echoed. I was doing everything I could to keep myself in check. Why was I so nervous? Ugh. Calm down, Charlie.

“So, if we’re going to be friends, we should get to know each other,” Micah suggested. “What makes Charlie tick?”

“What do you want to know?” I asked, unsure. I hated talking about myself.

“Uh….” Micah shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

“Ice cream,” I said, unable to resist smiling.

“What a copout—ice cream. Who doesn’t enjoy ice cream?” Micah chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Some people don’t like ice cream,” I argued, but he shook his head.

“Who? Can you name at least five people? I bet you can’t.”

I wasn’t even going to argue. He was right; I couldn’t name one, let alone five. “Okay, okay. I love Stove Top stuffing. I could eat that stuff all the time.” I chuckled.

“I like pizza.” He took another sip of soda.

“And you made fun of me for liking ice cream?” I raised my eyebrows as I lifted my slushy to my lips. Micah watched me with a broad smile.

“I guess you could have said what kind of ice cream.”

“Mint chocolate chip and teaberry,” I supplied at once.

“And I like everything pizza. I don’t care what’s on it. I’ll eat it.”

“Be careful who you say that to.” I giggled. “You might end up with some disgusting concoction. The possibilities are endless: Mac and Cheese with sardines; pickled eggs and sauerkraut; tuna with tartar sauce.”

“All of those sound gross,” Micah laughed. Another Bryan Adams song started to play, and I gestured to the radio.

“I had no idea you were into Bryan Adams. I mean, this is from 1991.”

I grew up with the songs of the ’80s. Mom almost always played Bonnie Tyler and Meatloaf on her record player while we dusted the living room on Saturday. One of my all-time favorite albums of hers while cleaning included Nino de Angelo’s “Jenseits von Eden” and Queen’s “Radio Gaga.” My parents had met while my dad was stationed in Germany; his favorite song to listen to was “99 Luftballons” by Nena.

“It takes a special kind of man to enjoy Bryan Adams.” Micah winked at me. “He’s an amazing singer. I could listen to him, The Cars, Elvis, and Don Henley for hours.”

I couldn’t stop the corners of my lips curling into a small smile.

“You really don’t seem the soft rock type, Micah,” I murmured as I took another sip of my slushy.

“I’m full of surprises I guess,” he said with a smirk.

“I doubt that,” I scoffed with a laugh.

“Try me,” he replied as his eyebrow rose with amusement.

“What’s your favorite holiday?” I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt and pressing my back against the door. Micah lowered the windows then turned the car off. He echoed my movements, positioning himself to face me.

“Favorite holiday, hmmm...” He scratched his chin. “I guess it’s a tie between Halloween and my birthday. Everyone enjoys celebrating a day dedicated to themselves.”

“You would,” I teased him. He grabbed a nearby balled up receipt and chucked it at me.

“What about you, Charlie? What’s your favorite holiday? If you say either one of mine, I’ll know you’re just a copycat.”

“Actually, I love Christmas.”

“You and half the world.”

“Hey! It’s a fun holiday. Presents, Christmas trees, music, and food! You can’t go wrong with a holiday centered around those things.”

“It’s actually Jesus’s birthday, Charlie. Hate to break it to you.” Micah laughed. “You’re celebrating it wrong.”

“I think I love it so much because of the memories I have associated with it. When I imagine Christmas, or hear holiday music, I think of Germany. Everything there appeared almost magical to me. I can still remember the twinkling Christmas lights in this huge department store. They would set up all these Christmas trees all around the store, and you could take ornaments right off the branches. There were little wooden signs above the doors of the shops that must have been there for hundreds of years. And the scent of pine saturated the air, even when it snowed.”

“How old were you when you left?” Micah asked, tilting his chin curiously.

“I think I was like three or four,” I replied, squinting as I thought about it.

“And you still remember that?”

“Bits and pieces. There’s one ice cream parlor I recall vividly. My mom took me there a few times. Each time we visited, an aroma of freshly baked cupcakes would waft through the air. I’m pretty sure it was the waffle cones we smelled. Sometimes, when I’m standing outside waiting for the bus in the mornings, I catch a whiff of those waffle cones from the ice cream parlor. Mom says it’s the Kellogg’s factory, but to me, it’s Germany.”