Page 138 of Silent Shadows

Truck stop showers exist for one purpose: Get clean. Reset. Leave.

No one lingers in a truck stop shower because they’re having a meaningful life experience.

At least, that’s what I’ve always thought.

But standing in the hallway outside watching Daisy fight off a shiver, my thoughts on the place have changed a little. As have my plans.

I handle paying and hand out everyone’s tickets. Luckily it’s a slow afternoon, so everyone gets their number called right away and peels out one by one to their stall to feel human again.

She looks up at me. “So do I get a ticket to this freak show?”

“Oh, you’re getting a ticket to a show,” I say with a smirk.

“You totally only got one ticket for us, didn’t you?”

“One shower, but don’t worry—two towels.” I grab the spare from my bag and hand it to her, still smiling.

She doesn’t return the smile, but when her fingers brush mine, I know we both feel the electricity.

“You should get warm,” I say.

“I hear you.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Miles. But I’m still weirded out that you shared the next episode with your brother. It’s not a big deal, but you should have asked. I’m not used to… this.”

“You mean you haven’t had a brother come back after a year locked up in Area 51, and then wanted to show him what the girl you’re falling for is working on because it’s pretty amazing?” I say before I can stop myself.

She cocks her head, eyes wide, before retorting. “You mean you haven't gone out on assignment to revive your podcast, met a charming Bigfoot hunter you weren't supposed to catch feelings for, then gotten a little spooked when he shared your work with his brother, someone you barely know?”

She sighs deeply enough that I know her anger is deescalating.

“Sorry. I’m sorry—you’re right. I should have asked you first,” I continue.

“You should have. But… thanks for being proud of me.” She shivers again.

“Daisy, you’re still shaking.”

Her gaze lifts, exasperated. “Are you going to keep saying that until I stop?”

I lean past her as if checking on the clerk, and my mouth brushes her ear. “I'm going to keep saying it until I'm the one making you shake.”

I pull back to see the corner of her mouth curve. “Okay, Mr. Park Ranger.”

I hear myself say, “You like that.”

Silence.

Immediate, catastrophic silence.

Daisy’s eyes flare.

“Number 821,” the clerk’s voice booms overhead through the speakers.

Heat cuts through the cold air between us.

I grab her hand and walk toward our stall. “I know how long they all take in truck-stop showers. We’ve got time.”