The ride to the night diner is filled with her laughter. We’re changing the radio station whenever the other looks away. I pretend to glance through my side window and her hand reaches for the tuner. I’m ready; mine gets there first and our hands meet at the radio knob. My own laughter rings out around us, mixing with hers.

I wish I didn’t sound so nervous.

I shake my head at my own thoughts, focus on what’s happening. Tina’s left hand is flicking against my right. More sweet mirth as we wrestle for control. I relent; let her win.

“Fine, have your station on” I say, turning and smiling at her smug expression. She’s already mouthing the words along with the music.

“I’d moan about you letting me win.. Except I love this song” she says and sings to anchor her point.

I try and focus on the road but I’m stealing glances anyway. The happiness on her face, the released enthusiasm; it’s amazing. And contagious. I sing along with the words I only half know, laughing and provoking her gentle teasing when I mess up the lines.

After I trip up on the closing line, the hysterics drown out the DJ’s commentary. A slower song drifts through the car speakers and she turns to the window, her enjoyment calms and she begins muttering to the slow tune with her face turned away. It’s not a song I recognise and I strain to hear her whispering the words.

“Let me hold you in my arms forever more” She’s mumbling faintly.

“Who sings this? I’ve not heard it” I say and she turns to face me. She’s not stopped singing, she merely looks at me. Her lips are forming words that quicken my pulse.

“Lady, for so many years I thought I’d never find you
You have come into my life and made me whole
Forever let me wake to see you each and every morning
Let me hear you whisper softly in my ear”

The smile on my face twitches as I wonder idly what I should say. In the end, I don’t have to say a thing; she’s answering my previous question.

“Kenny Rogers. It’s corny, but I like it”

“Kenny Rogers sings this? I thought he sang country..” I say, turning into the diner parking lot.

As we’re walking through the door, I motion for her to sit in a booth while I grab the attention of one of the waitresses. As I sit down opposite the now silent blonde, I wonder if the tension is going to start rising, but it doesn’t. The conversation flows easily and we laugh freely together. The discussion is turning to the gallery we’ve just come from and she asks about the history there. As I get wrapped up in my Art speak, her eyes radiate interest; she’s actually listening.

“Enough about me” I say, feeling the heat in my cheeks, “What about you?”

She talks about herself; her move to LA, her brother Michael, little bits from her past. She doesn’t mention her parents at all so I don’t endeavour to bring them into the conversation.

“How did you meet Eric?” I ask gently, not wishing to cause her any discomfort. I let our eyes connect and she seems to hesitate for a moment as though questioning how trustworthy I am.

“My father introduced us” She says simply. I move to change the subject, but she carries on, seeming to have gained a little more confidence. “He came home one day and told me of an upcoming artist he was supporting. It was clearly his intention for us to be together from that first meeting. I didn’t mind him and the first few dates were ok, he was a little egotistical but I thought that might turn out to be a good thing” She stops and her gaze finds the coffee cup in her hands.

“But it didn’t” I finish for her. She looks up and I can’t help but wonder. “Are you in love with him?” I ask, barely above a whisper. She looks a bit blank, like the question has only just occurred to her. “I’m sorry.. It’s not my place” I adjust.

The silence settles and for the first time the air is thick with tension.

“No” She says, after a few moments of silence. My mind fogs and I try to decipher what she’s referring to. “No, I’m not in love with him” She whispers; as if reading my mind.