He takes a second to compose himself.
“What if I can't... what if I turn around again?”
His shoulders are tense and raised.
“Let's just go as far as Chinchilla,” I suggest. “Sweetest freshest heirloom melons in the Southern Hemisphere. Or so I read…”
“Watermelon?”
“Promised my crush I'd get him one for his birthday. Can't show up empty handed, can I?” Marco's nerves ease a little.
There it is. I’ve made him smile.
One hand on the wheel, he merges back onto the highway.
“Is your crush cute?” he asks.
My eyes burn into him in a way that answers the question.
“You’ve got it bad for this guy, don’t ya?” he teases.
“So much that I can't bear it,” I whisper.
???
Just beyond noon, we’re scouting stacks of ripened fruit.
“It's only fair that we get a couple,” I say. “You scoffed the entire thing when you were seven, and now you’re a grown lad with an appetite.”
He spanks my ass.
But then we remember we’re not in the city anymore.
Perhaps it’s safer to tone the flirting down.
At least in public.
Carrying the melons back to the truck, we stash one in the chiller.
I wrap a second one in a towel on the back seat.
Grabbing a pizza to share, we satiate our hunger.
“Where to next?” I ask softly.
Marco tilts his head toward the highway.
“Charleville,” he announces. “They do a wicked steak and chips. And they have a planetarium.”
“Star nerd,” I laugh. “Want me to drive?”
“Nah. I like your truck too much to give it back.”
Marco is still on edge, but he tries to hide it with humour.
“Guess you’ll have to buy another.”
Fucking proud of you, I admit silently.I know part of you wants to turn around.
