So, itwasa date—just not with him. Up front? I glance toward the now empty seat. I guess it would be a bit silly to sit back here like he was some sort of chauffer.
Noah eyes me in the rearview mirror and I shuffle my boots, noticing the dried dirt that’s crumbled off them and onto his nearly perfect floormat.
Ignoring my mess, I jump out of the truck and dash up front, hauling ass to avoid being outside the warm vehicle for too long.
When I shut the door, Noah smiles at me. “Seat belt.”
I cast him a look but pull it around me and click it into place anyway. He lets out a chuckle, the weak light of the touchscreen highlighting the twinkle in his eyes.
He pulls out of the driveway and onto the road.
When the silence stretches between us as we make another turn, I ask. “So … you two aren’t a couple?”
He rears his head back, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Morgan and me? No. Just close friends.”
“Cool.” I avert my gaze out the window.
I wonder if his mom wishes they were a couple. Ugh.Stupid.
As more and more of the night scenery goes by, I realize quickly we aren’t on the road to Yosemite, at least not the main one. The seat belt digs into my shoulder as I crane my neck to get a look at the sparse signage. My eyes flick from the dashboard to the windshield, my pulse thundering. It’s only 7:30 p.m., surely I shouldn’t have to worry about him taking me out of town.
I should’ve never gotten in this car. Did he evencallthe tow truck? See, this is what I’m talking about. Law enforcement can get away with anything—people inherently trust them. It’s the perfect cover.
I am not opposed to flinging myself out of a moving vehicle. Perhaps the next time he stops, if he stops, I can ditch with athanks, but no thanks.
My breaths rapidly intensify, coming fast and shallow. The air rushing from my lungs is amplified by the cramped space, and Noah looks at me, brows dipping into a deep groove. If only the damn radio was louder.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Uh, I think this is the wrong way. Shouldn’t you be going the other direction?” I press my lips together, determined to stay calm, but my voice trembles, catching on the end of my question. Each exhale scrapes against the back of my throat, the tensionsnaking tighter in my belly each second we continue the opposite way.
“Oh, sorry. No, no, this is the way to my mom’s house. I was on my way there for dinner when Morgan called, and I figured you might be hungry, too.” He studies me as best he can while driving. “Which I can see now was a poor assumption. I should’ve asked.”
I let out a raw, shaky breath. I guess that makes sense, but I grip the seat belt at my chest tighter.
“Is that okay? Going to my mom’s for dinner. She—I don’t have much food at my place, and she doesn’t cook, but I ordered some takeout and had it delivered. We may need to reheat the soup, though.” He smiles, but it dies when he takes in my expression, still haunted by the possibility of the horror my mind conjured up. “Dang it, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
It’s clear he has no idea why my reaction is so intense, but he seems concerned regardless. There’s a measure of reassurance when he taps the map app on his screen and points to the green dot, the little blue dot veering closer as we drive. “We’re almost there but say the word and we’ll turn around.”
Well, that’s not going to happen. His dying mother wants to have dinner with him, and Mr. Nice Guy Ranger was late because he was playing Uber for a good friend. I’m not sure I can say no to that—I can’t.
“It’s fine,” I say. “But I’m not really dressed.” I examine the dirty boots on my feet. Honestly, caring about what I’ve looked like over the past six years is a pastime. I operate with grungy hiking hair that’s only seen dry shampoo for a week at times, and my outfit … definitely not one I’d wear to meet his mom. Not that I’mmeetinghis mom. Well, I am, but not like that. Agh. Why am I so flustered?
“You look great, and I promise it’s nothing fancy—soup and sandwiches from the Toasted Spoon.”
My stomach rumbles when he mentions the new restaurant in town. I haven’t tried it. Moreover, I’m fairly certain Mitch would pitch a fit if he caught me spending my diner paycheck at a competitor. Where the diner is vintage and homey, the Toasted Spoon is sleek and modern. Of course, even if I wanted to eat there, I couldn’t. Their prices for a sandwich and soup combo could buy me groceries for an entire week.
I dip my head in acknowledgement yet continue to watch the blue dot on Noah’s GPS get closer to our destination, unsure what to say.
“Where’d you hike today?” Noah asks.
“Mount Dana.”
He raises his eyebrows, as if he’s almost impressed. “Nice. That’s one of my favorites while Tioga Road is open. Used to run it. Now I can’t even find the time to get out to Sentinel Dome.”
I study him, my heart racing as he speaks my language. He’s a trail runner? “Yeah. Tioga Road is going to close any day, so I wanted to get this hike in before it does.”
“Mount Dana is no easy feat. You must be exhausted.”
