Page 33 of Reeves

He shakes his head and looks forward, one wrist resting on the top of the steering wheel.

“I’m just messing with you. I thought I saw a black Hummer yesterday.”

“I’ve been driving to clear my head. When I realized I was near Magnolia Lane yesterday, I wanted to see if your parents still lived here.” His voice is deeper than I remember. Or maybe I’ve forgotten how it carries through the air between us.

Twice in two days is not an accident, but I don’t press.

“Yeah, I was able to snag a house down the street. Doing the small town thing.”

God, that sounds like everything he didn’t want.

A dog barks somewhere down the block. The truck's engine hums between us.

"I didn't mean to bother you. I was just driving by. You know how I love to just drive."

I imagined this conversation a hundred different ways, but not like this.

We really look at each other. The lines around his eyes weren’t there before, and neither was the small scar above his right eyebrow.

A strand of hair slips across my face. I tuck it behind my ear, buying myself a second.

“I heard about your dad,” I say. “I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a great man.”

“Thank you. He was great in a lot of ways. It’s still surreal.”

His shoulders stay squared, like he's standing at attention even while seated.

There is a part of me that wants to step forward and wrap my arms around him.

But that isn’t my place anymore.

“Are you still in the military?” I ask.

“Yes. I have about a week left here before heading back overseas. I came for the memorial, of course, and I’ve been catching up on rest.”

“I’m glad you have that time with your brothers.”

A porch light flickers on at the Hendersons’ house. Evening shadows stretch across the pavement while my groceries sit forgotten in the driveway.

His gaze drifts past me to the house, taking in the yellow light, the potted plants on the porch steps, the metal art piece hanging from the eave.

“It suits you,” he says.

The words land heavier than they should.

We stand there, neither of us saying what actually matters.

The truck idles, low and steady.

He watches me with that same intensity, and my skin prickles with it.

Reeves shifts in his seat, glancing at the dashboard, then back at me.

“I should let you get back to your evening.”

His voice carries none of the questions I once imagined hearing if we ever stood face to face again. There’s no mention of a child, no acknowledgment of what we created together. Just polite distance, as though we’re acquaintances who happened to run into each other on the street.

Maybe that’s all we are now.