Just us.
Sadie's car is parked near the end of the row. I load the bags into her trunk while Jillie supervises from the bumper.
"Careful with the cereal," she says.
"Wouldn't dream of disrespecting the penguins."
Sadie smiles down at the keys in her hand. "Thank you."
"For carrying groceries?"
"For surviving Peterson's Market."
"Barely."
Her smile deepens. I want to earn that smile again. The thought lands before I can stop it.
Jillie climbs into the back seat, still talking about cereal law, tiny chairs, and whether I should wear a tie to the concert tomorrow night.
I close the trunk.
Sadie turns toward me, and for a moment, the space between us is quiet.
Not awkward. Not simple either.
"You really don't have to come tomorrow," she says softly. "To the concert. I know Jillie put you on the spot."
"She didn't."
Sadie's eyes search mine.
"Colby."
There is warning in my name. And worry. And something that feels too much like hope.
I should make it easy for her. I should step back. I should remind both of us that this is temporary.
Instead, I say, "I want to come."
Her breath catches just slightly.
Inside the car, Jillie presses her face to the window and fogs the glass.
Then she draws a heart with one mittened finger.
Sadie sees it.
So do I.
Neither of us comments, because what exactly is there to say?
That none of this is real?
That all of it is beginning to feel real in places it absolutely should not?
Sadie tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear.
"Then we'll save you a tiny chair."
