Page 47 of Where Roads Lead

Silence was comfortable, usually. It’s what I’d existed in for most of my life, especially in the years since Matthew died.

But considering that in the handful of times I’d been around this girl she’d never once stayed quiet for longer than fifteen seconds, it made the present noiselessness in the car a little unsettling.

“What’s wrong?” I looked over to my passenger seat where she sat, staring out the window.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly.

“Why are you being so quiet?”

“Because I have nothing to say.”

“That’s a first,” I muttered.

Silence filled the space between us.

I tried to turn my attention back toward the road, but damn if I didn’t keep sneaking glances at her from the corner of my eye like some creep.

She was still as a statue. Unnervingly so.

“Hey, Elsie, are you sure you’re—”

“I said I’m fine,” she snapped, frowning at me with feral ferocity.

I raised my fingers from their position on the wheel, a symbol of surrender.

And then, her stomach let out an audible growl that had all the pieces clicking into place.

I blinked. “You’re hungry?”

Her stomach groaned again in response.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She shot me an offended look.

“Because I’m not going to ask you to stop and get food. I just want to get there and get this over with.”

I laughed under my breath, surprisingly amused by her agitation.

“What’s so funny?” She scowled, red brows furrowed so far down they looked like a cartoonist drew them on.

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I just didn’t expect you to get so vicious when you’re hangry.”

Without another word, I took the ramp to exit the highway, causing a protest from my moody passenger.

“I told you, I don’t need to stop,” she said, arms crossed over her stomach as she slouched down in her seat.

“You said we could get coffee on the way, right?” I reminded her.

Her eyes widened at the mention of caffeine, and I fought the urge to laugh again. She was too easy.

“So, we’re getting coffee,” I told her. “And, if the establishment happens to have a pastry of some sort—”

“Or a bagel?” Her green eyes widened hopefully.

“Or a bagel,” I agreed. “Then I guess there wouldn’t be any harm in picking one up, would there?”

I watched the conflict play across her face, her desire to oppose me at all costs battling against her hunger. In the end, her need for carbohydrates won.