If I Was Young, I'd Flee This Town. I'd Bury My Dreams Underground.

"Well, this is... nice," I said as I looked out the window, hoping to see something other than desert grasses and shrubberies. Finally, we passed a nondescript green sign signaling our arrival in the village of Canada de los Alamos.

Zach nodded, glancing at the sign also. "Anything's better than Santa Fe. I'd like this place better if it had food, though." He smiled, or maybe he was just squinting at the bright sun, as he scanned the scenery. The community appeared to be nothing but a small, rural village that probably didn't even contain a convenience store, let alone a decent restaurant. We hadn't seen another living creature since I saw Blaine's car when we took the exit.

Suddenly, I saw a tall, neon sign that stood out like a beacon in the distance. Grace Café, it read in simple block letters. "Hey, Zach, I think I found food," I said, pointing at the sign.

He scanned the sign, which seemed as out of place here as a skyscraper on a farm, and nodded with approval. "Good enough for me. Next time we go road tripping, though, remind me to eat beforehand," he said with a laugh.

I felt warm shivers radiate out to my fingertips as he perused my face with his beautiful oceanlike eyes. "Sure, no problem," I laughed. I silently rejoiced in the fact that he'd hinted at the possibility of going on another road trip someday. Together.

We pulled into the parking lot, which was surprisingly full. I wondered how many belonged to customers and how many to employees. "You want me to bring the ukulele so I can teach you a song while we wait for our food?" Zach asked me.

"Yeah, I'd like that," I replied softly as we both climbed out of the car.

Zach strummed the ukulele delicately while we walked up to the small building, and I listened blissfully. The only sound in the world I could think of that might have been more alluring would be his voice, in any form.

"You should sing something while we're in there," I suggested, beaming. "Do 'Postcards from Italy' or something."

"Hmm. Maybe I could teach you that one, if that's the one you like best." Zach opened the door for me. Such a gentleman.

I felt elated as we strolled to a table for two in the back corner of the restaurant. The whole place looked as if it hadn't been refurnished since 1952 - a vintage lamp with a flickering light bulb hung above us, the upholstery on the seats smelled faintly of mothballs, and a jukebox sat not far from our table. The whole experience was quite like being in a time machine. Even the waitress who approached our table seemed to fit the scenery. "Can I get you something to drink while you decide what to order?" she asked in a generically friendly voice.

Zach shrugged and looked at me, then up at the waitress. "Coffee, I guess."

"Same," I said with a nod.

"Alright. I'll be right back with your coffee." The waitress hurried over to another table of people waiting to have their order taken.

I looked around at the other patrons. Most were old, but a few were middle-aged, and I even saw a table of laughing teenagers. None, however, seemed to notice that Zach was more than just a run-of-the-mill cute guy. "Does anyone ever recognize you?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Sometimes. But usually not in places like these," he laughed. "You ready to learn 'Postcards from Italy' now?"

He held up the ukulele, but I focused more on the long, gorgeous fingers cradling it. I smiled, thinking about all the times those fingers must have danced on the nylon strings. "Definitely."