“Are you okay?” he asks. His eyes glint like he’s happy or amused. “Your cheeks are pink.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, instantly feeling bad. “What’s that?” I ask, my voice much nicer. I point to the cooler.
“This”—Connor says, opening the lid and peering inside—“is lunch, courtesy of my mother.”
The smell of bacon wafts up. “Are you saying you’re sharing?”
“Maybe, but you better be careful. If you’re not nice, I’ll share with someone else.”
“Who?” I ask. I didn’t even think about there being someone else in Connor’s life. How stupid of me. He’s… Well, he’s everything. One day, someone will be very happy with him.
Heat rips through me at just the mere thought of this person, whoever she is. It’s not fair or right, but when is anything? I can’t have Connor, so instead I’ll hold onto the envy I feel. In ten years I’ll think of him, and I know in ten years I’m going to be as jealous as I am today.
“I’m teasing, Brynn. Of course this is for you and me. Unless you want me to share it with Walt.”
“The way to Walt’s heart is definitely through his stomach.” I laugh. “He calls me Bryan sometimes, and he hates my shirts. He also told me my spaghetti tastes terrible, and he was only being nice when I took it over to him and he said it wasn’t awful. He was kidding though.”
Connor replaces the lid on top of the cooler and buckles his seat belt. “He sounds like a real treat,” he mutters, looking in his mirror before pulling out onto the road.
I grab the cooler and place it on the floor next to my feet. “He’s like one of those sour candies. Once the first layer wears off, what’s below is actually sweet.”
Connor looks at me. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
“I’m sour all the way through,” I joke.
“I bet you taste pretty sweet on the inside,” Connor says, then loses all his cool. He blushes and stammers. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not that you’re not sweet or anything, because I actually think you are, but the way it sounded, it was just, um, not how I meant to say it and—”
I laugh. Embarrassment is adorable on Connor.
“Chill.” I touch his shoulder. “It’s fine. I know how you meant it.”
I take back my hand and set it right where it should be. On my lap. My lap is a safe place.
Maddeningly, Connor falls silent. Like my fall and subsequent tears never happened, like he isn’t taking me someplace and sharing lunch with me, like embarrassing words didn’t just fall from his mouth like rocks in a landslide.
I slump into my seat and try not to think about Connor, which is impossible because we’re sharing the same oxygen at the moment.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the window, watching the trees go by.
* * *
“What do you think?”Connor asks, lifting two sandwiches from the cooler. He hands me one.
We’re sitting on a brown wooden bench, the food between us. In the distance are rolling hills, and though they look small from here, I know how massive they really are. In between the hills and us are trees that fade into scrubby brush, and beyond that lies desert. To the southwest of us are the red rocks of Sedona.
“It looks like a new box of crayons, but the crayons in the middle are red and orange and pink, and the ones surrounding it are shades of brown and green.”
Connor stares at me.
“What?” I ask, conscientiously wiping my mouth, even though I haven’t taken a bite of food yet.
“Would you mind if I painted that? The crayon box like you described?” He bites into his sandwich.
I do too, and then I moan, in this utterly embarrassing way, but Connor only laughs. I take another bite and raise my eyes to the sky.
“She uses jalapeño bacon and avocado.” He eats a quarter of the sandwich in one bite.
“Holy crap,” I say, swallowing. “Please tell your mom how amazing this is.”
