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“So, where do you want to go?” he asks, not even mentioning the fact that I’m late as fuck.

“You pick.”

“Okay.” A mischievous smile pulls at his lips. “Then how about we take a drive down Maple Road? For old times’ sake.”

“Maple Road?” I swallow, my throat parched beyond measure.

“You did say I could pick, right?” He winks.

Goddamn him and his winks.

“Fine. Maple Road it is,” I grumble, not one bit enthusiastic about it.

It’s not that I don’t have fond memories of the street we grew up in. I do.

Just too many of them involve Milo.

Then again, how could they not? He was always there.

Like those summer days spent on my porch, filling notebook after notebook with tales of horror while a shirtless Milo somehow managed to turn mowing his front lawn into an all-afternoon affair.

Or all those nights he walked me to my door, whether we were coming home from school or I was getting off work, only for us to end up sitting on my front steps talking long after we should’ve said good night. And even when we finally did, going inside didn’t always mean the night was over.

My bedroom window had a perfect view of his, and sometimes I’d catch him there, elbows propped on the sill, waiting to see if I’d poke my head out.

So many little moments that seemed insignificant back then. A whole childhood lived with nothing more than a patch of grass and a strip of asphalt separating his house from mine.

Something tells me his choice of destination wasn’t picked out at random. Maybe he wants to see if I remember. If I remember the way we used to be.

As if I could ever forget, especially after last night.

Ten years apart should have been enough to forget Milo Fletcher. It took him less than ten seconds to prove it wasn’t.

Without further word, I pull away from the curb and head toward Maple Road, just like he asked.

By the time the lights of Main Street fade behind us, the silence inside the car has become impossible to ignore.

We’ve barely exchanged a handful of words since leaving the diner, and having Milo watch my every move isn’t helping.

I shift my neck from side to side, trying to work out some of the tension gathering there, but I can practically feel his stare against my skin.

“Can you stop?”

“Stop what?” he asks with a laugh.

“Staring at me like that. It’s unnerving.”

Another chuckle. “I see you haven’t outgrown your aversion to being the center of attention.”

“It’s not like being the center of attention ever worked out well for me,” I say, a little more curtly than intended.

Milo’s smile disappears instantly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” My jaw ticks as I make a right.

“Max,” he says more softly, reaching for my hand on the gearshift and giving it the gentlest squeeze.

“I’m fine, Milo. I’m not that fragile little girl anymore.”