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“I was worried this story was going to end with the cat dying.”
“Is that a joke?”
He says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“That was a joke.” I twist back to face him. “You just made a joke.”
I bark out a laugh. “Careful, growly bear. If you keep up this whole personality thing, I might actually start to like you.”
He doesn’t answer, but I catch the faintest softening around his eyes. Progress. Microscopic progress, but I’ll take it.
The road stretches endlessly ahead, ribboning through farmland and small towns that seem to exist only as an exit number and a gas station. My stomach growls loud enough that even Beau notices.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving. I was too nervous about missing the flight to eat breakfast.”
He nods once, scanning the highway signs. “Next exit. Twenty miles.”
I stretch my arms overhead, fingers brushing the roof of the cab as I study his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows that seems permanently etched there, like he’s always carrying the weight of something heavy and just hasn’t figured out how to set it down.
Even now, focused on the road and hands steady on the wheel, he looks like he’s in control of everything. The truck. The silence. His emotions.
It’s kind of annoying, honestly. And surprisingly hot.
His forearms flex on the wheel, the veins in his hands catching the afternoon light, and I swear I’m about two seconds away from fanning myself with the pamphlet in the glove box.
“Are you always this intense when you drive?” I ask, partly to distract myself. “Or is it just because you’re stuck with me for another fifteen hours?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just flicks his gaze toward me before returning it to the highway. “I like to focus.”
“Well, it’s working. You’re focusing so hard I’m afraid the road might combust from the pressure of your thoughts.”
Another twitch at the corner of his mouth. Still not a smile, but close enough to make my stomach flutter.
I settle back in my seat with a little grin. Grumpy. Stoic. Fine. But he’s not made of stone.
We finally get to the next exit, and my bladder stages a full-blown protest.
“This is your fault,” I mutter as Beau pulls off the highway.
He lifts a brow. “For letting you drink three iced coffees before noon?”
“For being the kind of man who won’t stop unless the truck physically runs out of gas or explodes.”
The exit leads us to a gas station that looks like it hasn’t seen a health inspection in thirty years. The flickering sign says “Food & Fuel” but should really just say “Abandon All Hope.”
Beau parks beside the only working pump and cuts the engine. I squint at the building with its sun-faded posters and half-dead vending machine out front.
“This is where I die,” I whisper, clutching my purse. “Tell Violet I went down bravely. Fighting for flushable toilets.”
He’s already out of the truck, grabbing the pump like this is any other day, like he doesn’t even notice that the windows of the place are tinted the color of despair.
I hop out and reluctantly stride to the building. A chime jingles overhead as I step inside, and I immediately regret every decision that’s led me to this moment.
The bathroom smells like bleach and sadness. I’ve never peed so fast in my life.
When I return, Beau’s leaning against the truck, sipping from a bottle of water, and holding a sad little bag of off-brand peanut butter crackers.
