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Well, she’s not looking at me like she has me figured out at least, but now she’s staring at me like she’s trying to figure me out, and it might be worse.
“When’s the last time you felt happy?”
This conversation just keeps getting better. “I don’t know, Claire. Why are you asking?”
She shrugs but looks less smug than she did when she asked her first question. “You said I could ask you anything.”
Leaning my head back against the seat, I sigh. “Christ.” Soft laughter fills my ears, pulling my attention back to her, and I ask, “What the hell is so funny?”
Casually scrolling through her phone, she doesn’t even look at me as she answers. “You’re clearly such an open book.” The corner of her mouth quirks into a half-smile.
Now I feel like a bitch. The last time I was happy? Genuinely happy? My mind surveys the past year. Nothing. I survived this year. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good.
It was numb.
It was numb because I made it that way, and you can’t feel happiness like that.
Not really.
If I’m going to think about the last time I was happy, I’ll have to go back further, which I’d rather not do. But as much as I don’t want to dive into those memories, Claire is staring at me again, and I know I’ve already taken too long to answer her question. She doesn’t look impatient, though. Her face is calm, her eyes bright as she waits for me to respond. It’s getting to the point where I can’t hold her gaze without my palms sweating.
Glancing down, I clear my throat and mutter, “It was in Florida.”
18
Claire
The last time Aiden was happy was in Florida? That’s not what I was expecting. Part of me figured he’d say something...well, something less sunny.
Somewhat balking at him, I say, “Um...I know we haven’t been on this train together for very long, but from what I’ve gathered, I thought you hated Florida.”
He doesn’t look at me. “I do.”
“Did Mickey Mouse himself kick you out of Disney or something?” I say it in a teasing tone, but the glare I receive shuts me up. Holding my hands up, I backpedal, “Okay, clearly you got burned. I get it.” He rolls his eyes so that he’s looking straight ahead again, and I realize how my comment sounded. “I just meant—” I groan. “I wasn’t trying to make a pun.” Aiden finally told me something of substance, and here I am making jokes about getting burned in the Sunshine State. Kill me now.
When I glance at him again, he’s watching me with a subtle hint of amusement. I don’t know how he can make me feel completely exposed with just one look, but those eyes pierce into me like nothing I’ve ever experienced. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
With a dismissive shake of his head, he mutters, “You’re so wound up.”
Wound up? I am not.
I’m laid back.
Go with the flow.
Spontaneous.
Did he miss the part where I got on a train and embarked on a trip to Florida?
“I am not wound up.” I realize I’ve crossed my arms as I’ve said it and quickly drop them to look more relaxed.
“Just an observation,” is his only response before he casually pulls out his phone.
He doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes—neither of us does. It looks like he’s texting, and I’m curious to know who he’s talking to, but I don’t want to come across as nosy. I hate that he thinks I’m uptight—and I hate the fact that I’m dwelling on it even more.
Aiden seems fine with the silence that falls between us, but I don’t like it. I want to know more about why he was happy in Florida. What happened on his last trip that was so great? Or not great? I guess if he hates the place now, something must have gone wrong.
But he’s not talking to me.
