—You like Tina's, right? —He asks suddenly.

—I've never eaten there, but I don't mind going.

—Brilliant. You'll like it, you'll see —he says, entering the shopping center parking lot— It is underground, so even outside the car we are safe from the rain.

We went up to the third floor of the shopping center, which is where all the bars and food chains are, and we sat down at one of the free tables at Tina's.

I look at the menu before ordering, there is a lot of variety and everything looks great.

When I decide what I want I tell Brett and he takes care of ordering everything and paying. Although I have insisted on paying myself (since I was the one who lost the bet), it is he who has invited.

Shortly after, the order is brought to the table and we begin to eat.

—did you like? —Brett asks when I taste what I've ordered.

—It's delicious. I'm going to start coming here more often.

—I knew that you would like.

We continued eating dinner while talking quietly. I don't know Brett very much, so our conversation is basically asking questions about each other, but it's not for awkward, quite the opposite.

By the time we get back to the car it is dark and the rain has subsided a bit, but it doesn't take long for it to rain hard again. The night is fatal today.

Brett drives hard on the road, so I take the confidence and freedom to turn on the radio and find a good music station.

I leave it on TopTeen fm, the song that is there I had never heard before, but it has a good rhythm. When the chorus starts, Brett starts singing softly, but I still hear him and laugh softly.

—What are you laughing at?

—Of you —I confess— you sing fatally —I add, laughing even more.

—Of course not —he protests and begins to sing louder.

The rest of the way we laugh, because Brett, even though he ends up accepting that he sings badly, does not stop singing the parts of the songs that are known, some he sings even worse on purpose and he even convinces me to sing with him a couple of them.

—The concert's over, we're here —Brett says as he parks in front of my house and, I admit, I'm a little sorry to be here so early.

—Thanks for everything, I had a good time. —I unbuckle my belt, but I'm not down yet— Leave me your number —I say and Brett obeys.

—What are you doing? —He asks, surprised when he sees that I'm typing something.

—I wrote down my number for you. Drive carefully and let me know when you get home.

Brett's smile widens when he hears me.

—Yes, Mom —he answers in a mocking tone and gets out of the car.

I run until I get to the porch to get as little wet as possible, when I get there I take the keys out of the bag and open the door, but before entering the house I turn and say goodbye to Brett, who is waiting for me to enter, with his hand.

I've been in bed for a while now when my phone starts vibrating when a new message arrives.

I don't know why, but I smile when I read the message. I save his number in the contact list and answer him.

A kiss, Mia.