During the movie, I thought about trying to kiss her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
She didn’t seem to mind touching me, but I had no idea how she’d react to a kiss.
I hadn’t been looking for flings lately, anyway—Ginger filled every corner of my mind.
Before dawn on Sunday, I went out and swapped the cars.
I wanted to show her my convertible.
Ever since I moved in, Dominic spent fewer and fewer weekends at home, which suited me just fine.
“Everything okay, Cas?” Ginger asked as she ate breakfast at the kitchen island in her long pajamas when I got back.
“You don’t usually leave the house this early.”
“We’re going to work out,” I said.
“But first, I want to show you something, once you’re ready.”
“Give me a few minutes,” she said and hurried to her room.
As usual, I let my eyes wander through the gap in the door.
I wanted nothing more than to kiss every single scar on her body until she realized how beautiful she actually was.
When she came out, she brought her backpack so we could head straight to the gym.
“What are you showing me?” she asked curiously as we walked down the stairs.
My flame-red convertible was parked right in front of the building, so she saw it the second she stepped outside.
“Did you borrow it from your aunt?” she asked in awe.
I nodded.
She walked over to the car and gently ran her finger along its side.
“It’s a stunning car,” she said, a tear glistening in her eye.
“The color is what I like most,” I remarked.
“It’s even more beautiful than the design concepts,” she continued.
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“My brother’s final masterpiece,” she said softly.
I was stunned.
“Your brother’s?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Victor is an automotive designer,” she said, her fingertips gently caressing the car.
“He designed this.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
She stepped back from the car and, in a few moments, let down her hair.
It cascaded in curly waves all the way to her waist.
I’d never seen her hair down before; it was breathtakingly beautiful, just like in the old photographs.
“It was just before Christmas when he finished the designs and showed them to me,” she said, pulling my attention back from her hair to the car.
“And he gave this color a pun-filled fantasy name.”
She held the ends of her hair against the edge of the car, and the name suddenly flashed in my mind.
“Ginger-red,” Ginger said with a smile, at the exact same moment I remembered it.
Her hair and the car were the exact same shade.
I couldn’t even find the words to speak.
“I gave him some of my hair so he could get the color mixed perfectly,” she laughed.
“It’s the only reason I didn’t cut it after the accident.”
“I had no idea,” I admitted, finally finding my voice after the shock.
“No one knows,” she said with teary eyes.
“I don’t usually talk about Victor, and I’d never seen this car in real life before.”
“My aunt has excellent taste,” I said.
She nodded.
“Want to get in?”
“I don’t want to get it dirty or anything,” she said cautiously.
No girl had ever said that before—usually, they just threw themselves in.
“You won’t,” I said gently.
“We have to get to the gym.”
“You want to take this there?” she asked, her eyes widening.
I nodded.
“I’ve got it for the day.”
Ginger opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat.
“You can’t practice in this one,” I laughed.
She looked as if the car had been designed specifically for her.
The sight of it was breathtaking.
“Go on, swap over,” I said, and she moved to the passenger seat.
“Victor designed the chassis this way so someone my height could see out of it comfortably,” Ginger explained.
“He said if I became a successful financial expert or a violinist, he’d design an even better car for me.
But until then, he’d use this model to figure out how to solve the problem of me not being tall,” she laughed.
“You mean being tiny,” I added with a smile.
The car, of course, started instantly.
Ginger laughed.
“It only started because you haven’t threatened it yet.”
“This isn’t the kind of car you need to threaten.”
“But you baby this one without even thinking,” she added with a smile.
“No wonder the other cars are mad at you.” I just laughed.
I drove to the gym and we changed.
Bob was already waiting for Ginger.
When I wasn’t around, he was the only one who trained her—no one else.
“Alright, kiddo,” Bob said.
“Today, you aren’t practicing against a bag.”
“What am I up against then?” Ginger asked.
“Today, you start learning how to take advantage of being short,” Bob said, lifting the ring rope.
Ginger climbed in timidly.
Bob was wearing boxing gloves too, and Ginger was given a headguard.
Quite a few people watched us from outside the ring, but I suspected they just wanted to stare at Ginger.
“You’re going to learn to attack and defend,” Bob said matter-of-factly.
Bob showed her how to strike a live person, then handed his place over to me.
“Beat Cas up,” Bob said.
Ginger looked at me, then back at Bob.
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t usually fight.”
“For any reason at all,” Bob laughed.
“Just imagine he’s the bag and hit him.”
Ginger started punching, and I easily dodged.
She struck with more and more momentum, determined to land a hit, when I stepped aside.
Her own momentum carried her forward and she tripped.
As she fell, her shirt slid up her back, revealing the scars.
Bob looked at me with shocked eyes, then shot a stern glance around the room before instantly regaining his confident voice.
“Don’t just lounge around,” he spoke up.
“Get back up, kiddo.”
Ginger stood up and tugged her shirt down.
Since she didn’t see any reaction from anyone else, she let out a sigh of relief and started punching again.
After we finished the workout, Ginger went to change, and Bob stepped up to me.
“Who did that to her?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet.
I have a hunch, but I want to be certain.”
“When you find out, don’t hold back,” Bob said.
I nodded.