Page 67 of Reeves

“We can ride with Reeves. Just to the beach and back.”

Her voice stays neutral, but her eyes don’t move.

She's coming too. No way she lets him go alone.

"Yes!" Benjy races toward the passenger door, jumping to reach the handle. "This is so cool!"

The door weighs more than he expects. I reach over to help him pull it open, gritting through the dull ache in my shoulder, and he scrambles inside before anyone can change their minds.

While Charli walks around the front of the truck, I slide into the driver’s seat and flip open the center console, shaking two ibuprofen into my palm.

Same routine as the last few weeks.

They go down dry before she reaches the passenger door. I close the console and start the engine, letting it rumble to life as she moves into the seat beside me.

She twists around to check on Benjy, who’s already flipping vents and digging through compartments like he owns the place. He leans forward, and she reaches back, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Make sure you buckle up, Ben. Okay?”

For a second, I watch them. The cab that usually feels wide and open closes in around us.

Benjy leans between the seats, pointing at every button and gauge like he’s found a control panel.

"What's this one do? And this? Is that for the radio?"

"That's climate control. Radio's here. This changes the drive mode."

I show him, keeping it simple.

He absorbs every word, locked in.

"Sit back and buckle up, Benjy. I mean it. Or we walk."

He scoots back, and the click of the seatbelt sounds.

I put the truck in drive and pull away from the curb. As we turn down the narrow road toward the beach, Charli leans forward to redirect the air vent. The back of her hand brushes my forearm before she stills again.

The contact is quick, but it goes deep. Heat lingers where her skin touched mine, familiar in a way I’ve spent years not thinking about.

I turn the air off without looking at her, already knowing she’s cold.

Some things don't change. I wish more of them had so I wouldn’t still be here fighting the urge to reach over and pull her closer to me.

She smells like salt and clean soap. No perfume. The same as before.

Benjy keeps talking from the back seat, stretching forward as far as the seatbelt allows.

“Why is it so tall?”

“So it can go over big things.”

“Whoa. Did you drive it in the desert?”

“Not this one. One like it.”

Charli shifts when I take the curve a little tighter than I meant to. Her knee bumps the console, her shoulder brushing mine as she reaches back to tell him to sit.

Neither of us pulls away right away.