It’s difficult to see, and although I want to get us back as quickly as possible, I’m forced to crawl through the violent wind and flurries of snow. We make it halfway up the hill before I decide to pull into a landing. The unexpected storm is louder than the hum of the heat blasting from the vents. I have no idea how long we’re going to be stuck here.
“There’s nothing in the weather forecast about there being a storm,” Krys mutters, frowning at her phone. She releases a deep sigh, setting her seat back and tossing her arm over her pretty face.
“Well, shit,” I chuckle. “I didn’t realize being stuck with me wasthatbad.”
She peeks at me through the small triangle of space under her slender arm. It takes a second, but she can’t help but give in to the cunning smirk stealing across her face. “I just don’t want to be bored,” she says, relaxing back into the smooth leather of the seat.
I reach back for the bag from Soul Pages. The card game I got is one of those Mini Moments for Couples games. It was supposed to be a gift for my sister and her husband, but…desperate times.
I shuffle through until I find a card we can play in the circumstances. The wind howls while I connect my phone to the Bluetooth and swipe through my playlist. Billy Paul’s jazzy voice dances through the speaker asMe and Mrs. Jonesblares.I turn it up, singing along when I catch a part I remember. I get lost in the memory of my mom and dad, dancing on a Sunday night while my sisters and I fought over who was going to do the dishes.
We didn’t have much, but we were the richest people I knew.
When I look over at Krystal, she’s watching me curiously with the shadow of a smile on her face. That part of the chorus plays.
“We got athinggoing on,” I sing along.
Her cheeks flush in that way that warms me from the inside out. “I remember watching my parents dance to this song. My dad would treat Sunday dinner like a weekly date for my mother. He wouldn’t let her lift a finger the whole day; he did all the planning, shopping, and cooking. After we were finished, he would stand ceremoniously with his hand open for her to take.” I clear my throat, deepen my voice to sound more like Mr. Saint.
“Excuse me, miss, may I have this dance?” I mimic him.
The Bronco shakes slightly from the wind outside, but Krystal’s bubbly laughter mixed with the melody of the song inspires a feeling of nostalgia inside me. I know we just met, but it feels like I’ve been reunited with someone I didn’t even realize I’ve been missing this whole time.
I hand her the card.
“Mixtape Memories,” she smiles as she reads. “Pick a song that is strongly nostalgic for you.” She reads the rest of the card out loud, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks about what song she’ll play. Nodding confidently, she reaches for my phone. I unlock it and hand it to her, impatient to hear what comes next.
Mase’sWelcome Backslides through the SUV, and the beat change shifts the energy instantly. Outside, the sunlight reflects off the snow, shining through the stormy clouds that hang low in the sky. Maybe it’s the heat from the vents, but looking at Krystal as she bops along with an equally bright smile on her face, I swear it feels like summer.
“When I was twelve, I spent the summer in NC with my grandparents. It was like one never-ending slumber party with all my cousins — and we were mostly girls.” She cuts a glance my way. “At the end of July, when our parents came back for us, we had this huge cookout. I’m talking, the time of my little life: super-soakers, water balloon fights, smoked brisket, burgers. The grown folks were playing Spades and dominoes. This is one of the songs that played during a moment where I looked around and felt this immense love for my family. It’s like, in my twelve-year-old heart, I knew how lucky I was.”
My smile grows wider the longer she talks, but I don’t miss the use of the past tense. How long has it been since she’s been to North Carolina?
“Here,” I push the deck of cards towards her, “you choose the next one.”
Her brows furrow as she swipes card after card. I chuckle at her intense concentration, use my index and middle fingers to smooth the wrinkle between her brows. She sucks her teeth, smiling as she bats my hand away.
“Found one,” she announces, fanning the card back and forth as she tucks her long leg under herself. “We can’t do it exactly like the instructions say, but I really want to know,” she starts. “What was your first impression of me? This can be anything that stood out to you…traits, feelings, assumptions, or any other details about our first encounter.”
I’m immediately taken back to that moment in the morning, before the diabetes in a cup. Instead of trying to describe it, I turn on my camera and go back to the image. When I twist the screen to show her, her eyes go wide with wonder.
“W-when was this?” She asks, her voice breathy and soft.
“The morning after I arrived, right before you called me psychotic.”
She snorts, throwing her head back with laughter. “It’s beautiful,” she sobers. “You’re extremely talented.”
“I just pull the trigger, Snowflake. I don’t control what’s in front of me. The beauty you see is your reflection.”
She rests the camera between us, her touch feathering my arm as it climbs. The lightness of it sends electricity through my body — down my spine and to my core. Her long fingers wrap around the back of my neck, and she pulls me in for a kiss. It’s raw, but ripe with the sticky tension that strings us together. I can’t get enough of her, exploring her mouth each time like it’s the first and the last. Kissing her feels like my lips are at home, like they exist to kiss her all the time. The space is cramped, but it doesn’t stop her from scrambling into my lap.
My hands find solace in the dip of her waist, and I let her dig a hole in my heart that I want to fill her with. A nagging feeling in my chest wants me to stop, to protect myself from wanting something temporary to be permanent. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting to come to my senses and stepaway. But I can’t, I can’t because I look over into the darkness and feel the siren song of potential. A ditch filled with what-ifs. What if she’s everything I’ve wanted? What if she’s the person I’m meant to end up with? What if we go our separate ways after this, but what if we don’t? What if we don’t end with this trip? And even then, what if we see where this takes us and it ends in heartbreak, for both of us? Haven’t we both had enough of that? But what if there’s no end? What if the only end is where we end up being together?
Nick
“There’s no space,” she huffs, sitting back on my lap with kiss-swollen lips.
“Space for what, Snowflake?” I ask.
