2 a.m. I drive Cassie home and park outside her house.
“Leave the engine on,” she says. “It’s cold.”
Cassie rests her head on my shoulder. I tune the radio to mellow sounds and nestle my face in her hair, inhaling the smell of lavender shampoo. She lifts her face and is about to bring her lips to mine when a motion sensor triggers an explosion of light.
A gargantuan man is illuminated. He’s wearing blue-striped pyjamas and wielding a baseball bat. Cassie springs back into her seat and covers her face with her hands. “Oh, please, no,” she says, her voice muffled.
I pin myself against the backrest and wait for the windscreen to shatter. The behemoth lingers, bat lolling. He ambles round to my door, signals me to wind down the window. I lower it an inch. He peers in. Bloodshot eyes. Ruffled black hair.
“Cassie, it’s you! Listen, just kill the engine, will you. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
I turn the ignition key and the engine dies with the music. The giant retreats. The light flicks off.
“So that was my dad. Still wanna go out with me?” she asks.