No. I wasn't ready for this distance, this formality, this pretending.
But I nodded. "Yeah."
We moved through the shop checking locks, straightening displays, erasing evidence of what we'd done. I wanted to say something—needed to—but nothing felt right.
Outside, the parking lot was buried under at least eight inches of fresh snow. Our cars sat under white mounds, barely recognizable. The highway beyond had been plowed—a dark ribbon cutting through white—but getting out would take work.
"I'll dig you out," I said.
"You don't have to—"
I caught her hand before she could finish the protest. She looked up at me, startled. Her eyes darted away, then back. She bit her lip.
"Last night," I started. "This morning. That meant—"
"I know." She pulled her hand free, gentle but firm. "It's fine. We don't have to make it complicated."
The words hit hard.Don't have to make it complicated.Like what we'd shared was simple. Easy. Meaningless.
"Flannery—"
"We should go." Final. Quiet. "You need to get Dash. I need to get home."
She was right. We did need to go. But I knew I was losing her, that she was slipping away right in front of me.
I found the scraper in my truck and started on her car. The physical work felt good—something concrete to do with my hands. Snow fell from the windshield in heavy chunks. The driver's side door was frozen shut; I had to yank it three times before it opened.
She loaded Vixen into the passenger seat, then climbed behind the wheel. Through the windshield, I saw her checking her mirrors, adjusting her seat, fiddling with the heater—anything to avoid looking at me.
When she finally did glance over, I raised my hand. She returned the gesture, small and uncertain, then backed out of her spot.
I stood in the parking lot and watched her taillights disappear down the highway.
The cold seeped through to my insides despite my heavy overcoat, but I didn't move. Couldn't seem to make myself get in the truck and drive away from this place where everything had changed.
Finally, I climbed into the cab and headed slowly toward the Millers' place.
***
The Millers' house came into view, every window blazing with Christmas lights. I could see movement through the kitchen window—probably the boys still causing chaos.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.
The front door opened and Dash came barreling out, still in his pajamas, Jayden right behind him.
"Daddy!" He launched himself at me when I got out of the truck. "We made pancakes! And they had chocolate chips! And we had a pillow fight! And Jayden's got a new race car track we built!"
I swung him up, breathing in the scent of syrup and little boy. "Sounds like you had fun."
"The best! Can we have sleepovers every week?"
"We'll see." I carried him toward the house where Jon and Heather stood in the doorway, looking amused and exhausted in equal measure.
"Thanks for keeping him," I said.
"Anytime." Heather smiled. "They're good together. Mostly."
"Hope he wasn't too much trouble."
