Page 134 of Worth the Trip

My fingers moved to the pendant at my throat before I could stop them. “For your family?”

His eyes dropped briefly to my hand, then returned to me. He didn’t pull my fingers away or turn the movement into a conversation. He simply took my other hand.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me, baby.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Aight.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You could at least pretend to believe me.”

“I respect evidence.”

“Shut up.”

His laughter followed us toward the parking lot. He dropped the trash into a nearby can, tucked the empty coffee carrier into my SUV, then opened the passenger door of his.

I looked between our vehicles. “What about mine?”

“I’ll bring you back.”

“You volunteering to chauffeur me?”

“I’m volunteering to keep you close.”

That grin again.

I got in.

By the time Landon settled behind the wheel, his hand had found my knee. I looked down at it, then at him.

“You need both hands to drive.”

“I got both.”

“One is on me.”

“Exactly. I know where it is.”

“That is not how traffic safety works.”

“It’s how inventory works.”

I laughed as he pulled onto the road, his thumb moving lazily against my skin. Self Springs passed around us while he pointed out pieces of himself. The high school he attended. The field where he first played organized football. A diner his father had taken him and Lennox to after Friday-night games. I listened.

Mostly.

His hand made geography difficult.

When he turned into a residential neighborhood lined with wide porches and mature trees, my stomach tightened again. A two-story brick home with cream trim appeared ahead.

“That’s home.”

My fingers found the pendant.

Landon noticed. Of course, he noticed. This time, he covered my hand with his.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me, baby.”