The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (famous ebook reader txt) 📕

“Correct. I thought I’d drive, since asking for a favor, then forcing you to sit in traffic feels like bad form.”

“Fine by me,” Dylan said as they crossed the street.

Mike pressed the clicker on the new-model navy-blue Subaru SUV so Dylan could hop into the passenger seat. Of course he would drive this car. She smiled at her seat belt and suppressed a laugh as he ducked into the car. Glancing at her over his own seat belt, he stopped. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Mike arched an eyebrow and began easing the car down the road at a careful four miles over the speed limit.

“It’s just, you would drive this car.” Dylan laughed the sentence out before she could stop herself. “It is the most consistently Mike thing in the world. If someone had asked me in high school what car you would drive as an adult, I could have guessed this car down to the color.”

“This car is amazing. What I’m hearing is that I’ve had consistently good taste.” Mike’s smile lingered on her for a second before he turned to face the road.

“I was thinking less amazing and more along the lines of a super safe dad car.”

“Well, it does have an excellent safety rating. Which I’m pretty sure makes me sound like I’m one birthday away from bringing snacks to soccer games.”

“Worse than that. It sounds like I’m five years into juice boxes and fruit leathers.” Dylan snickered.

“I’d have way better snacks than that.” Mike looked incredulous. “Fruit leathers? Give me some credit. I wouldn’t humiliate my kids. I’d do a good job on snack day.”

“That is reassuring. Just because you drive a dad car doesn’t mean you are gonna be the cheap juice guy.” Dylan very much doubted that anyone would think of him as the Capri Sun dad. Sexy dad? Maybe. Crappy-snack dad? Probably not.

“No way. That guy drives a minivan.” Mike laughed, turning into the parking lot near the museum and throwing the car into park. Reaching for the door handle, he threw a sly grin over his shoulder. “For the record, this is the most predictable thing about me. I take risks in other places,” he said, holding Dylan’s gaze for a second before smirking and sliding out of the car without another word.

Dylan froze, hand on the door handle. She was pretty sure they weren’t talking about cars anymore, and now her mind was involuntarily going in all the directions her body had attempted to go earlier.

“Pull it together,” she mumbled before pushing the door open and making a mental note to leave this part of the conversation out when she talked to Stacy.

Without so much as acknowledging his ambiguous statement, Mike moved forward. “I wanted to show you this one first, because it is a great example of a traditional museum, but also because they have an exceptional education program.”

Dylan forced her mind to shift gears as they walked toward the front of the building. She had driven past the Burke a million times and been to the museum with her father almost as many. However, she had never really stopped to look at the building until now. The Burke, technically titled the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, was a city icon. While the boxy building itself was not that exciting, the museum made every inch of the landscape interesting. Indigenous art and statues were everywhere, blending into the grounds, some covered in the bright-green moss that, if left unchecked, would reclaim every surface of the city. But at the Burke, the moss was intentional, as if to signal that the museum was a part of nature itself.

“I always liked this place,” Dylan sighed, nostalgia tugging at her as they climbed to the front entrance.

“I know. Every time I visit, I feel like I should’ve taken a school bus,” Mike said, pulling the door open and fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. Dylan hustled to the counter to pay before Mike got through the door. Whether or not he would admit it, she was pretty sure her job was more lucrative than being a PhD student working at a struggling nonprofit. Holding out her credit card, she opened her mouth to ask for two tickets. Mike cut her off, gently placing his hand on top of her outstretched hand and smiling at the teenager behind the counter. “Hi. I work at the Crescent and the UW. I have my ID.”

Dylan deliberately didn’t notice his hand. The way it warmed her own, cold from the gray outside. She didn’t notice the size of it or the way his hand felt, not heavy but present.

Instead, she chose to focus on the teen, who shook his hair out of his face and smiled the distinctly northwestern smile of someone who is friendly but in no way wants to be friends. “Welcome to the Burke.” He paused to look at the ID. “Let me get you a couple of passes.” The teen stopped to hit three quick keystrokes before holding out two stickers. Mike lifted his hand from hers to accept the tickets.

“Thank you,” he said, handing one sticker to Dylan, who suddenly felt the emptiness of the hand that still held her credit card. Half smiling, Mike added, “Most museums in the area have an agreement. We waive entrance for each other.”

“I should have guessed.” Dylan’s laugh was breathy as she returned her credit card to its assigned spot and peeled the sticker from its back. “You were saying this is a good example of how museums can include children.” She cleared her throat and looked up at Mike, his own sticker firmly affixed to the front of his black jacket.

“Right,” Mike said, looking up and collecting his bearings. “We want to go this way.” He began navigating through the museum’s lobby, past the mounted skulls belonging to the long-dead reptiles that had once called the area home. Mike moved through the space casually, allowing her time to take in the dinosaur