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White walls.

White doves.

White ice.

Snow.

Clouds.

Bedsheets.

Arctic foxes.

Pupils.

Polar bears.

Salt.

Pure.

Blank.

White.

The passenger door clicks open and shut, startling me.

One more white: her dress.

The only shade of the color I don’t hate right now.

My knee-jerk reaction is to slip on the happy-go-lucky mask I’ve worn most of my life. The one that keeps things light. But I don’t have to with her, do I?

We’re not clean or controlled. We’re messy. But still so fucking bright.

Maybe the rest of my life could use a little of that.

“Do you always keep your car keys on you?” Mia asks, breaking the silence. It was deafening a minute ago, but now, with her, it’s comfortable.

I nod toward the hooks by the door, where all the keys hang.

“You’re not worried someone might steal one?”

I shrug. “I’ve got insurance. And the garage only opens with my fingerprint.”

She shakes her head. “Must be nice to be that rich.”

I wonder why she’s talking about locks and cars and keys. Then I realize she’s doing exactly what I need, pulling me out of my head.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks, careful not to disturb the peace she’s somehow brought with her.

“No.” I drum on the wheel.

“Okay.” She watches me, then lowers her voice. “I should tell you… I may or may not have scared your mom off. Just a heads-up. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

A laugh escapes me. “My little pit bull.”

I shift closer, sliding my arms around her waist and resting my forehead on her shoulder. I press a kiss there.