But before I can ask, she wipes the expression from her face and, with a smirk, asks, “So tell me, how much do we look alike?”
“Well, you are twins,” I offer.
“Yeah, but not all twins look exactly alike.”
I glance over at her and raise an eyebrow. “You saw the picture in my wallet.”
“That super faded one?” she asks with a light laugh. “Okay, fine. We’re, like, the same person then, at least appearance-wise.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” I hedge, reluctant to admit how many differences I’ve already categorized.
When we first met yesterday, all I saw in her was Locklyn. But every time I’ve looked at her since, it’s their differences that stand out to me. The latest one is her fingernails. Locklyn always keeps hers short, since it’s better for boxing and hand-to-hand combat, but Haven’s are almond shaped, painted burnt red. I don’t even know if Locklyn ever bothered painting her own nails.
Haven leans in, putting her elbows on the raised console between us, and I get a whiff of her scent. Smoky vanilla.
“Really? Is my nose bigger? My eyes closer together? Can she do this?” she asks, and when I steal a look her way, her eyes are crossed and she’s sticking her rolled tongue out at me.
Unexpected laughter bursts from my chest and it feels good.
When have I last laughed like this?
The answer is easy. Last night when we were standing in the red-drenched honeymoon suite. But before that . . .?
Maybe months. I can’t honestly remember.
There’s a lightness in my chest that’s completely at odds with the dire situation.
“I like it,” she says, and I cut my eyes back at her to find her watching me with a soft smile, before refocusing on the road.
“Like what?”
“Your laugh. It’s a good one.”
“There are bad ones?” I ask, arching a brow as I give her another quick glance.
“Oh yes.” Her voice sounds serious, but I resist peeking at her again. “My friend Tate sounds like a hyena when she laughs.”
That brings a smile to my face. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Hand to heart, I’m not. In fact, if anything I’m downplaying it. It’s an auditory offense. She’s lucky she’s so pretty.”
I shake my head, unable to hold in the chuckle that shakes my chest. It falls quiet in the car, and not a comfortable silence. There’s a heaviness that saturates the space.
When I flick my eyes toward her, Haven’s face is still pointed in my direction, but her eyes and the pleat between them tell me she’s not really seeing me. She chews on her bottom lip, deep in thought, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that her upper lip is fuller than Locklyn’s, but I hold back. It’s not that I don’t want her knowing that I’ve stared at her mouth, but . . .
I also don’t want her knowing that I’ve stared at her mouth.
What is going on with you? Pull it together, I order myself.
“Everything okay?” I ask, not able to help myself from asking. She just looks so sad all of a sudden.
I catch a small shake of her head out of the corner of my eye.
“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about my friends, Tate and Kendra. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I never get to say goodbye.”
My chest tightens, but there’s really nothing I can say or do to help her. Fleeing was a necessity, as is cutting off all communication in order to stay off the radar.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like a jerk.
