A quiet, miserable realization hits me. Sometimes when I’m really exhausted, I snore . . . and drool.
I clear my throat, and turning my head toward the window rub around my mouth, feeling for dried drool, relieved when I don’t find anything.
“Yeah, I guess I was pretty tired,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to drive all night.”
He shrugs. “No big deal. I don’t need a lot of sleep. And once we get to the safe house there will be plenty of time to rest. I’m glad you got to rest. Your body needs it.”
I glance out the window as the early morning sun starts to brighten the scenery around us. We’re in a wooded area. A fine layer of snow covers the ground and tree branches.
“Snow? Isn’t it a little early for that?”
Becks shakes his head. “Not at this elevation.”
“Where are we?”
“The Black Mountains,” Becks answers. “We’re less than an hour from the safe house. I haven’t seen another vehicle or dwelling in over twenty minutes.”
“Well, that’s good. Because it—” I cut myself off with a gasp when I get a peek of my reflection in the window.
I may not be covered in drool, but I have a crease cutting through the side of my face like a scar from leaning up against the leather seat, and the hair on one side of my head looks like birds decided to nest in it.
Fumbling with the visor, I finally flip it down for a proper look at myself, but the reflection in the small mirror isn’t any better than the peek I caught in the window.
“Oh gosh,” I mumble, finger-combing my hair.
Becks releases a low chuckle beside me. “It’s not that bad.”
“I was snoring too, wasn’t I?”
He doesn’t immediately answer, and when I glance over he’s biting down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling.
“Would you like the answer that will make you feel better, or the truthful one?”
I drop my face into my hands and groan, “Just kill me now.”
“Naw. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I’ve seen way worse bedhead than that from my sister. And the snores were feminine.”
“Feminine snores?” I ask, skeptical.
“Like a little kitten purring. Kinda cute actually.” When he takes a quick peek at me, there’s warmth in his gaze that makes my stomach flip.
“Snoring is never cute,” I argue, and he chuckles again.
“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug, and then slows the Bronco to turn into the parking lot of a small grocery store. “This is the last stop before the safe house. Talon probably has some sort of food stored up there, but unless we want to be eating cans of Spam and freeze-dried fruit, we should probably grab a few things here.”
I’m surprised to find the store is open at this early hour, but I’m not surprised to find we’re the only shoppers.
Becks and I split up to grab some rations. The store is sparsely furnished, with some items looking like they’ve been on the shelves for years. A fine layer of dust is on the mac n’ cheese boxes when I grab one, but I figure that stuff never goes bad, right?
I add a modest amount of food into the cart, meeting Becks back up at the front after about fifteen minutes of shopping. Our carts couldn’t be more different. Becks’ is loaded with frozen meats and veggies, and mine is a pile of processed foods. It’s only now that I realize my selection looks like it was made by an eight-year-old, not a grown adult.
Becks’ gaze flicks to my cart. He doesn’t comment, but I don’t miss the smile he tries to cover.
We load everything onto the counter and the clerk, a pimple-faced teen who barely looks awake, starts ringing everything up.
“I grabbed some shower stuff as well,” Becks says.
Clearly, he’s the adult between the two of us, because between my SpaghettiOs and potato chips, I didn’t think to get any necessities like that.
