Her eyes brighten. “Like the song?”
I nod. “Like the song.”
She squeals. “Really? We’re doing ‘Heads Carolina, Tails California’?”
“You always said that would be your perfect road trip,” I answer. “So, what is it?”
Her red lips stretch wide across her face as she flips the penny, quickly catching it in her palm. She slowly releases her fingers, studies the coin, then looks up at me. “Heads.”
“Carolina it is,” I say as I put my truck in reverse. “Which one?”
“I’ve never been to either. Maybe both?” The words are gentle but filled with anticipation as they leave her mouth.
I swallow down the pain that fractures through my chest. The Sadie I knew wanted to see the world—to run with wild horses and braid tropical flowers in her hair. She wanted to scream at the top of a mountain and find seashells between her toes.
“I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go, Sadie,” I say, and I mean it. For me, my destination isn’t a place. It’s a person—and she’s sitting right beside me.
28
SADIE
WatchingDusty Hollow disappear in the side mirror felt different this time. This isn’t a trip to see Sophie in Dallas or Emma in Austin. It isn’t an errand out of town either.
This isfor me.
The last time I left Dusty Hollow for me was college. Those two years at the University of Texas were like a fever dream. My major was undecided, something that both scared and excited me. I sat in classes wondering who I could be. I made lists of possibilities—anxious to chart some kind of dazzling destination for everyone to remember Sadie Summers,Most Likely to Succeed.
Then my destination became a little less dazzling—and a lot dustier.
We’ve been on the road for about four hours when my stomach gurgles loudly.
Milo glances over at me with a side grin. He hasn’t taken off his old ball cap. “I could use something to eat, too,” he says before he lightly pats the top of the steering wheel with his palm. “And while I love this old truck, it guzzles gasoline like it’s starved for attention. I probably should get a new one.”
“No.” The word comes out fast and hard. Then I try to recover with, “I mean, if you want to.”
Milo’s grin widens. “But you don’t want me to.”
“It’s not my truck,” I reply.
“It’s kind of your truck.” His left brow quirks. “It has your dent and everything.”
I shake my head. “Oh, no. I told you I’d pay to have that fixed and you refused.”
His blue eyes glisten. “You would have removed the memory.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I would have simply repaired the dent.”
“I like the truck the way it is, memories intact. There are a lot of good memories in this truck, you know?” The words are teasing but soft, and my skin freckles with goosebumps at the thought of those memories.
We sit silent for a while, my mind remembering the way his lips felt on mine, firm but gentle, hungry and warm. We were kids, starved to know what it felt like to be wanted for more than what we could give.
I think, in that way, I’m still that girl.
Iwantto be that girl.
Milo turns his blinker on, the sound of it loud in the cab, pulling me out of my thoughts as he pulls off at an exit toward a gas station.
He drives up to a fuel pump, tossing me a twenty-dollar bill. “Can you grab me something?”
