“Quiet,” he said. “Too quiet, maybe. But there’s a lake. A porch swing. She’s got this cat that’s ancient and hates everyone.”
I smiled. “Including you?”
“Especially me.”
“Good.”
He huffed a laugh. “And there’s a guest room. Figured we’d start there.” My eyes flicked to him, but he didn’t meet them. He just kept his eyes on the road, knuckles a little whiter than they’d been a second ago.
“Oh,” I said.
“Not that — I mean, unless—” He shook his head, clearing his throat. “I just didn’t want to assume.”
“You didn’t,” I blurted. “I am the one who jumped your bones less than seventy-two hours ago.” My pulse was high in my throat.
He reached over then, adjusting the volume knob with a flick of his fingers — like he needed something to do with his hands. The music rose again, gentle, familiar, something old and croony. I didn’t know the words.
He did, though. I could hear him humming along under his breath, just barely, like he forgot I was there.
My chest ached.
“You’re being really brave,” I said suddenly, surprising both of us.
He looked over, brow raised. “For taking you on a road trip?”
“For taking me home.”
He swallowed. I watched mesmerized as the knot in his throat bobbed.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I added. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I just want you to know who I am.”
“I already do.”
“No,” he said, voice quiet. “You know who I’ve been withyou. It’s different. It’s… we’re leaving our little bubble, even if you want to deny it. Unfortunately…there’s more to the world than the man you make me want to be.”
I looked down at my lap, picked at the hem of my sweatshirt. “Well… I like who you’ve been with me.” I still couldn’t look at him too closely. “Are you… different?”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just reached out and rested his hand — palm up — on the center console.
An invitation.
And I… I just stared at it for a second. Like touching him would burn. Like I’d get it all wrong again.
But I didn’t.
I slid my hand into his, fingers lacing tight. His thumb brushed once over my knuckles. “I think I’ve only ever truly been myself with you, Junebug.”
The remaining trip to the diner went by in a flash.
The bell above the door jingled as we walked in — a real bell, brass and a little rusted, clinking against the glass like it had been doing it since the '70s.
The place smelled of burnt coffee and fryer oil. A couple of old men sat hunched over pie at the counter, not even looking upwhen we passed. The waitress gave us a once-over, one hand already reaching for two menus before we’d even said a word.
“Booth okay?” she asked, popping her gum.
Ansel nodded. “Perfect.” He glanced down at me, at our entwined fingers. “Actually… can we…?”
