I grab a handful of chocolate bars, two bags of licorice, and a bag of sour gummies. When I drop them on the counter beside him, Ryder raises an eyebrow.
“Emergency rations,” I say.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “So this was the real reason you wanted to come along.”
I grin and bat my eyelashes and he shakes his head, still smiling faintly, and pays for everything with cash. The clerk slides the bag across the counter. I grab it, still grinning a little, and we step back out under the overhang.
In the truck, Ryder cranks the heat and soon it’s steamy and warm in the cabin. He has to crack the window to let air in as we pull back out onto the highway.
I pull one of the chocolate bars from the bag and pass it to him. He gives me a crooked grin and tears open the wrapper. The tension that’s been coiled between us loosens as we snack. I reach out and try the radio, but all the stations are static.
“This was a solid call,” he says when he’s done his chocolate bar, crinkling up the wrapper. “Haven’t had one of those in years.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “A chocolate bar?”
He shrugs. “Not a candy guy. Typically.”
“That’s depressing.” I lean back against the seat. “You ever do anything that isn’t efficient or tactical?”
He chuckles. “That how you see me?”
“Kind of,” I admit. “You’re always up, doing something, needing to be productive, to get things done.”
“So I can’t relax?”
“I think maybe you don’tletyourself relax.”
“Sure I do.”
“Name one relaxing thing you do.”
“I drink wine.” His mouth curves faintly. “And…” He pauses, just long enough to make me look over. “…Iexercise.”
The way he saysexerciseleaves no doubt what he means. Heat curls low in my belly. I roll my eyes, smiling anyway.
“Well, I’ve seen you ‘exercise,’” I say, making air quotes with my fingers, “and it looks too vigorous to be relaxing.”
He laughs, the sound of it filling the cab with warmth, and finally the world feels lighter again.
Just then, a crack of lightning rips across the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder so loud it seems to shake the earth, and water crashes against the windshield in a sheet. Ryder flicks the wipers higher, but within seconds the storm is a wall. The wipers thrash uselessly. It’s like driving inside a waterfall, and the sound is deafening.
“Shit,” Ryder mutters, leaning forward, eyes narrowing against the downpour. “Can’t see a damn thing.”
He flicks on the hazard lights and eases the truck to the shoulder, tires hissing through the waterlogged gravel.
“We’ll have to wait it out. Not worth sliding off the road.”
He turns off the ignition and sits back.
We just sit there, listening to the drumming on the roof, and the flash-boom of thunder. The storm beats against the truck like it’s trying to get in.
“Feels like the whole sky’s coming down,” Ryder mutters.
I pull my knees up on the seat, turning slightly toward him. “Guess we’re not going anywhere.”
“Not any time soon.”
Lightning flashes, bleaching everything white for a split second.
