During college, I met a wonderful girl from Michigan. Since I was a Florida boy who knew absolutely nothing about winter, she practically saved my life by taking me shopping for cold-weather gear. Over the semester, we became incredibly close. It was purely platonic, but the chemistry was undeniable. Everyone in our dorm was constantly playing the “will they or won’t they” guessing game.
We could finish each other’s sentences and read each other’s minds. The only thing we couldn’t bring ourselves to talk about was our actual feelings for one another.
When winter break arrived, she talked about how beautiful Michigan was in the snow. Hoping the freezing weather would finally force us closer, I volunteered to drive her all the way home instead of heading back to sunny Florida.
A few hours into the trip, the temperature plummeted. To make matters worse, the heater in my beat-up car was broken, and the only vent working was the one right in the middle of the dashboard. Naturally, we both kept reaching toward the center to warm our hands, and our fingers kept “accidentally” brushing against each other. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but neither of us had the courage to speak up.
As we crossed the Michigan border, my legs started cramping from the long drive. I shifted my weight, and my right arm accidentally fell right across her thigh.
I felt her tremble, but I froze, terrified of ruining our friendship. My heart was pounding. Is she going to freak out? Should I move my hand?
But she didn’t say a word. She just closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
As we passed Detroit, she shifted in her seat, causing my hand to slide a little further up her thigh. When we finally neared her highway exit, she gently leaned her head on my shoulder, causing my hand to slide even higher. I could feel her warmth, and my entire body was shaking with anticipation.
Suddenly, she leaned in and whispered softly in my ear, “You know, you can keep going further if you want…”
So I kept driving and ended up in Canada.
