I love my job. I love the fulfillment. But there’s still pressure.
One day, Delaney will take over Kingston Photo Gifts. She’s so good there. We might retire early. No worries at all. The company will be in the best hands. All she needs now is the perfect husband to run it by her side.
Theo doesn’t call me on my silence.
To his credit, he’s not smirking either. Not making fun of me for beingboring Princess Plainy-Laney.
I take a deep breath, fully intending to find it inside me to tell him that I love my job but yes, I’m unfulfilled in my private life and working on that—boring, Laney, boring—when something else entirely comes out of my mouth.
“Deer. Deer.Deer!”
There are no deer in Hawaii. Not like at home. But there’s an animal running into the road and I don’t know what it is and I know I’m supposed to sayright bumperor something else to tell himwherethe animal is, but instead, he swerves off the road and slams on the brakes as athumpand acrunchcome from the front of the car, and then there’s a sudden white explosion as the airbags deploy.
“Oh my god,” I gasp as I rock in my seat in the aftermath of the crash.
“Well, that’s a new one,” Theo says.
“Your car. Rental car. Did you take the extra insurance?”Dammit. Can Inotbe that person forone damn hour?
Theo unbuckles, then flings his door open and steps out.
I scurry out my side too, cringing. He’s going to be so pissed. I hurry around the front of the car, bracing myself for images of him kicking the tire and cussing and yelling at me for freaking out and yelling at the animal we hit for running across the road, but instead—
Instead, I find Theo tilting his head and staring at a barrel-shaped black animal about a third as long as the convertible is wide with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“What…what is that?” I whisper.
He whips his phone out of his pocket and aims it at the dead animal like he’s taking its picture. “Pig, looks like.”
And he wants a souvenir photo.
Of course he does, Laney. Insurance will require it. He doesn’t keep pictures of dead animals as souvenirs.
I glance at the front bumper, which is totally crushed. The light is crushed. The pretty red hood is crushed. The fender is crushed.
Can we drive this?
Will it even start?
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I should’ve said something sooner. Or clearer. It came out of nowhere. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“But I saw it before I found words. I should’ve spoken up sooner.”
He looks up at me and studies me like he’s perplexed. “You’re not responsible for the whole world, Laney.”
“No, but I—”
“Wasn’t driving,” he prompts.
“But I saw it and you—”
“Also saw it. And tried to avoid it. And failed. You still alive?”
“Yes, but—”
“You hurt?”
