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“How was that?”

“All right. She’s going to publicly endorse me at the next town hall.”

“That seems like a big deal.” I grab my purse.

“It is, especially when Joe will be speaking at the town hall the same day.”

“Have you met this Joe character?”

“No, but I know enough about him not to like him.”

“Is he slimy?” I ask as he opens the door for me.

“Yep.”

“Then we really need you to win.” I lock the door as Storm takes off for Wyatt’s truck, which is parked behind my car. When he hops in the back and disappears into one of those plastic dog crates in the bed, I look at Wyatt. “He’s not going to ride in the back, right?”

“No, he is.”

“It’s cold.”

“He’s covered with fur, and in his crate.”

“Okay, then it’s not safe. What if something happens and he decides to hop out while we are on the highway?”

“He’s not going to hop out.”

“But what if he does?” I stop at the passenger door. “I don’t feel comfortable with him riding in the back.”

“If he’s not in the back, he’s going to be in your lap for the next hour.”

“Okay.” I shrug, and he gives me a look filled with disbelief. “What?”

“The most attention you’ve shown him is patting his head.”

“That’s because he’s giant and I’m still sure that he wants to eat me.” I look at the bed of the truck when Storm comes out of the dog crate, his attention shifting between the two of us like What’s taking so long? “Come on, buddy, come ride up front.” I open the door, and he hops over the edge of the truck and jumps up into the cab.

“Genevieve.”

“Scoot, dude.” I ignore Wyatt and attempt to push Storm over. “Jeez, what are you feeding him, small children?”

“Random women,” he says, and I spin to look at him.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Get in the truck.” He sighs, and I smile. It takes some effort, but I manage to squeeze in next to Storm. He takes up most of the bench seat.

“No.” I turn to Storm when he sniffs my neck. “And no licking.”

“Genevieve, he can ride in the back,” Wyatt tells me, still holding the door open while I put on my belt.

“He’s fine, we’re fine. Look at us—we’re like best friends,” I say, and he looks between the two of us and shakes his head. “Come on, we need to get on the road.”

With a sigh he shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s door.

Thirty minutes into the drive, with Storm’s jaw resting on my shoulder, I watch the landscape go by out the window. There are still huge swatches of land out here that haven’t been touched by humans, but I’m sure it’s all owned by someone—some big corporation, the state, or some random person who has had the land for generations and hasn’t sold or decided to develop it for whatever reason.

“Do you miss Chicago?” The question catches me off guard, or maybe it’s that Wyatt is the first to break the silence.