I shake my head, then let out a breath. “That’s the problem. I’ve spent so long doing what I was supposed to do that I don’t actually know what I want.”
He studies me. “You don’t have to know yet.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I just…” I trail off, fingers tightening around my glass. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Not to anyone. Not even myself.”
Something flickers across his face. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
“That’s fair,” he says after a moment. “Figuring things out doesn’t come with a deadline.”
Relief loosens my chest a notch. Not because the future feels clearer, it doesn’t, but because he isn’t asking me to be anything other than uncertain.
I breathe easier.
In this diner, in this booth, in this moment, I want to pretend I’m unreachable. Like nothing outside these walls can touch me. Not my father. Not Evan. Not the wreckage I left behind.
Just Jet’s laughter.
Just Martha Lou humming.
Just Dallas across the table, warm and undoing me minute by minute.
I stare at him again.
My chest flickers with desire. Unfamiliar but not unwelcome. This wasn’t how it felt when we were kids. Back then, he was my best friend. My anchor. My partner in crime.
Now?
Being around him is leaning too close to a fire.
He catches me staring and his mouth quirks, just a little.
I look away fast, cheeks flaming.
Kissing Dallas probably wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done. So why do I feel like I want to do it again?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dallas
December 28th
Faith walksout of Spurs Diner, snow drifting in lazy flakes around her, catching in her hair and melting into her jacket, but she doesn’t seem to notice any of it. Her arms fold around her ribs, holding herself together with sheer will.
I know that feeling too well.
Jet hollers something about “bringing my girl back for pie, or I’ll come get her,” from the door, and Faith laughs, shaking her head.
“You hear that?” I say.
Faith snorts. “Jet considers pie a legally binding contract.”
“I should be worried,” I mutter. “She sounds organized.”
“She’s terrifying,” Faith agrees solemnly. “You’ll survive. Probably.”
But all the noise falls away when Faith looks at me.
“Do you want to walk a bit?” I hear myself ask.
