“Your turn.”
“RIG 847.”He pretended to ponder deeply.“Real Investigation Guru.”A laugh followed his wild slogan.
“That was the best you could do with that?”
“Okay, smarty pants, what did you come up with?”
The words breezed out without thinking.“Remarkably Intense Guy.”
“Intense, eh?”His eyebrow arched slightly.
I pretended to examine my nails, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck and clawing at the bottoms of my cheeks.“Just reading the signs, Tristan.”
He chuckled; a low, easy sound that filled the van more warmly than the weak heater.Outside, the highway curved, and sunlight spilled across his profile; strong nose, the line of stubble shading his jaw, and the faint smile proclaiming he was enjoying this far too much.
Another car, a shiny blue hybrid with a pristine plate: FTO 066, zoomed by in the fast lane.
“Figuring Things Out,” he said, smug and sure, as if he’d been waiting for those letters to appear.“Applies to me in...well, most things.”
“You?No way.”I shook my head, a small laugh escaping.“You’ve built a business, driven halfway across Canada, and saved a child’s stuffed bear.”I added with a tip of my head in his direction.“You’re clearly thriving.”
He shrugged and kept his eyes fixed on the road.“Still learning, I guess.”
Something in his tone softened, it was less teasing, more truth and it completely caught me off guard.I wanted to say something comforting, something clever, but all that came out was a quiet, “Well, you’re in good company.”
He glanced at me, and this time it wasn’t casual.His eyebrows drew together slightly, a faint crease at the bridge of his nose, and his stormy blue eyes sharpened as if trying to read the unspoken words I hadn’t meant to reveal.His lips pressed into a thin line for a heartbeat before curling into the faintest, almost apologetic smile.I felt it—an unspokenhold on, I’m here—and my pulse picked up.
Breaking the look, I scanned the highway before us, spotting the next plate in our game; a weather-worn station wagon with one taillight held by duct tape: HOP 219.“Hope On Pause.”
His hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
I gave a tiny laugh, more air than sound, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.“Didn’t mean for that to come out bleak.”
The van’s hum filled the silence, steady and rhythmic.The faint buzz of the rubber changed pitch as the pavement smoothed.
Finally, he said, “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”
My throat tightened as I forced a smile and avoided eye contact.“Okay, philosopher.Let’s lighten this up before we spiral into a self-help podcast.Give me something cheerful.”
His eyes darted ahead.“JFD 744.Just Freakin’ Dance.”
Tipping my head back, a genuine laugh bubbled out.“That’s...surprisingly optimistic.”
“Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Into what, exactly?”
He grinned.“A man who tries not to take everything so seriously.”
A silence stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward this time.It was...warm.
I spotted the next car ahead, an ancient green sedan with a plate barely hanging on by one bolt: TGA 015.It was too easy to slogan that plate.
“Oh look,” I said, pointing.“The Great Adventure.Very on brand.”
He tilted his head toward me, eyes gleaming.“Yeah...that one might actually stick.”
I smiled into the window’s reflection, watching mountains blur by like brushstrokes.“The game?”
