“Okay,” I start as Tate throws the last bag into the truck bed, “I have the trip all planned out. We’ll stop in Indianapolis tonight, weather permitting.”
“Okay,” he agrees, walking around me as he opens up the passenger side door and steps to the side so I can climb in.
I have to take his outstretched hand to step up into the cab because it’s too tall, and as my hand rests in his, my heart jolts in my chest at the sudden realization that his hands are much larger than my own. Large and very warm and?—
Don’t do that.
You can’t think about his large, warm hands and where you’d like them to be.
“I’ll be your GPS,” I say as I sit down in the leather seat. “I promise I won’t suck.”
The tiny dimples in his cheeks deepen as a soft smile crosses his face before he’s closing me in the warm cab and walking around to climb into the driver’s seat. As my eyes follow him, I get distracted by the tray of coffees sitting in the middle between our seats, and an excited gasp fumbles from my lips just as he’s getting inside.
“Coffee?” I ask.
He nods tentatively as he pulls one of them from the tray and hands it over to me. I’m even more stunned to find that it’s my exact coffee order, right down to the shots of espresso.
“You know my coffee order?”
“You, uh, you always have the s-same order every time I see you,” he explains, his cheeks turning pink. “I r-read the label once. That’s how I…know.”
Someone paying attention to me is new territory; I don’t think anyone ever has, not outside of my family. But even then, they never noticed the tiny things. Something as small as a coffee order. Except it wasn’tjustthe coffee order, was it? He also made me those flashcards to study with, and that was only from a glimpse at my notebook and textbooks. He’s gone out of his way twice now for me, and for the life of me…I can’t fathom why.
But it brings a lightness to my chest that I haven’t felt in a really long time.
CHAPTER SIX
TATUM
Saturday, December 18th
The six-hour drive to Indianapolis felt shorter, way shorter, and I know it’s because I could happily listen to Maeve softly snoring in the passenger seat forever.She read a book for the first hour or so, but after a while of snow and silence, she fell asleep.I thought the quiet and the whirl of white billowing down from every direction would make me sleepy while driving, but I was content just listening to her.
Is that weird?
That’s what I kept asking myself once we finally made it to the hotel and got all checked into our room. I’ve never liked anyone before, not even a crush. I’ve always kept to myself for most of my life, but I think I definitely have a crush on her.
Why else would I like the minuscule, weird things I do about her? The way she twirls her earrings as a form of comfort, the sad look she wears on her face that she quickly tries to cover with a half-smile when she knows I’m looking at her, or how she can’t sit still for long. Why would I even focus on those things and pay so much attention that I’ve almost got her facial expressionsimprinted in my brain? I mean, literally imprinted, I can’t get them out.
Photographic memory, remember?
I can’t stop thinking about Maeve’s ex from her dorm today.Landon. The way he acted so possessive of her, despite her obvious discomfort during the interaction. She seemed almost scared of him getting too close to her, and I had the most dreadful feeling when I recognized the fear she was trying to mask in her eyes. It all started to click into place like little puzzle pieces.
She’s jumpy at loud noises.
I remember a time when I thought that would never go away—the knee-jerk reaction to anything sudden or quick, the instinct to cower or protect yourself. Of course, I don’t know Maeve’s context of things, but I’d been around enough abusive boyfriends that my mom used to bring home to see the signs.
It’s devastating to see the signs in Maeve, but I hope with every fiber of my being, I’m somehow wrong about this.
The thought of her being in a situation like that makes the blood under my skin run warm, not like when I’m embarrassed, but…like I’m angry. I’m not an angry person, not even in the slightest, but imagining someone possibly putting their hands on her makes my temper flare.
Luckily, I’m easily distracted as we finally find our hotel room, using the access key to unlock the door and push inside. It’s nice and warm as we step onto the brown hospitality carpet, which looks like it may have been installed when the building first opened.
Maeve purses her lips as she observes the two queen-sized beds with outdated bedspreads and wooden headboards, arms crossed over her chest as she turns to me with an expectant look. “Which bed would you like?”
“Oh,” I rasp, rubbing my hands on my pants, “either one is okay. You pick.”
My throat bobs thickly as I watch her plop down on the bed furthest from the door, testing out the mattress with a tiny bounce before she stands back up.
