My eyes widen.
“What?”
“She was raising someone’s husband,” I say
He blinks.
“She was absolutely raising a husband,” I cut in before he can object. “She knew exactly what she was doing. The waltz, the letter-writing, no caveats in apologies.”
“She’d say she was raising a person.”
“She was raising a very specific kind of person.” I point at him. “A husband.”
Something happens on his face that I’m going to pretend I didn’t see.
The band changes songs. The opening acoustic notes ofWish You Were Hereby Pink Floyd begin to fill the bar.
I take a breath, the sound hitting me right in the center of my chest. “I love this song.”
My heart does a flip when I watch him get to his feet.
Oh God.
Moving around the table, he holds out his hand to me.
I look at his palm, then up at him. “What are you doing?”
“Come on, runaway.” He doesn’t look like he’s joking. “You never got a first dance.”
The air in my lungs feels thin. “Griffin, we’re in a barbecue joint on a Monday.”
“And there’s a band playing a song you love,” he counters. “Don’t overthink it, Pipes. It’s a dance.”
I look at his hand again and think of all the reasons I shouldn’t take it.
I come up with zero, so I rest my hand in his.
His grip is warm and firm as he guides me to the small, cleared space near the back where a few other couples sway. He pulls me close enough that I can smell the cedar, the beer, and the man. He places his hand on the small of my back as I rest mine on his shoulder, feeling the muscle move beneath his shirt.
The song is slow and haunting, and the room is full of people, but I feel like we’re the only two things in focus right now.
“She was raising a husband,” I repeat, leaning my head against his shoulder.
I feel him go still for a heartbeat. Then he rests his cheek against the top of my head.
“She was raising a person, Piper,” he says quietly.
The music carries us. Outside, the motel is waiting, and tomorrow, the road is waiting. But right now, there is just the guitar and the heat of his hand on my back, and for the first time in nine days, the noise in my head is gone.
I’m not fine. I’m something else entirely.
Twenty-Eight
Griffin
We leave when Terry’s starts dimming the lights, which I’m told is how they ask you to leave without asking.
The night air hits us both at once. Piper tips her face up toward it and breathes deeply. I've noticed she's been doing that the entire trip. Every time there’s open air, she takes a breath as if she’s gathering it. Like she’s been indoors and airless for a long time and is still catching up.
