Breaking the Line

I flashed what I hoped was a winning smile.  “How about a lift to the airport?”

“I'm going to La Paz.  I need to get – sure, por que no?  It isn't much out of the way.  Get in.”

I did.  She did too.  We headed north.

“Teresa,” she said, offering her hand without taking her eyes off of the road.

“Dylan.  I hope the detour isn't a big inconvenience.”

“I'm already going to be late because of the tire.  If not for you....  I can be a few minutes more.”





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