“Do you want my hoodie?”
“What?” Her gaze stalls on the corner of my jaw before snapping back to the sand in front of us.
“You’re hugging yourself like you’re cold.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.”
When a full-body shudder wracks her small frame, I tug on her wrist, pulling her to a stop while extending my hoodie.
“Take it.” I gesture to her forearm. “You’ve got goosebumps.”
Kenzie doesn’t say anything but accepts the hoodie, tugging it over her auburn waves. I punch my hands into the pockets of my jeans to keep myself from straightening out the hood when it gets bunched by her ear.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, adjusting the fabric herself.
I try not to feel overwhelmed by the sight of Kenzie wearing something of mine. I try—I really do—not to relish the way my hoodie hits her mid-thigh or how her slender fingers barely peek from the cuffs, but it’s sofreakingadorable. My heart pounds in direct defiance of my mental command to calm the heck down.
“No problem,” I manage, continuing toward the tall, chain-link fence separating Wilks Beach from the nature preserve.
Once we hit that, we can head back into town, past the library on the way to the fire station where Noah’s truck is parked. Maybe in that time, I can regain my sanity.
Kenzie’s flat expression drops once she sees the historic library, adding commentary as we pass the small market, tailor shop, and coffee shop.
“I’m going to grab a hot chocolate. Do you want anything?” she asks, her eyes back to their usual brightness.
“I’m good. Thanks,” I tell her. “Why don’t I get the truck while you order. I’ll pick you up here.”
The bustling coffee shop swallows her whole as I jog across the street. Turning down the EDM blasting through Noah’s speakers, I repark the truck in one of the spots in front of Seabreeze Beans. Through the glass windows, Kenzie shifts her to-go cup into one hand to use the other to gesture at the chess board between two elderly men. They each look up at her like she carries starlight in her pockets.
“I know the feeling, fellas.”
One of the men says something that makes Kenzie throw her head back with laughter, and I can’t help the wistful sigh escaping my mouth. Then she turns her attention toward the front of the store, and I quickly school my features.
“Get it together,” I say through gritted teeth.
As Kenzie gets into the truck cab, I shift the clasp of my necklace to the base of my neck just to give my fingers something to do.
The plan had been to drive straight back to my house and then thump my forehead on the steering wheel all the way back to Wilks Beach. I clearly need a bit of distance from Kenzie tokeep my wayward thoughts in check. What comes out of my mouth, however, is entirely reckless.
“We could stop by the lighthouse at the southern end of Virginia Beach on the way back if you’d like. Knock two things out in one day.”
It’s unfair because I know how much Kenzie loves crossing things off the lists she makes. There’s a house chore list hanging in the pantry, complete with a multitude of stickers. I’ve seen her take up to a minute deciding which sticker to set besidelaundry,change sheets, ormeal prep. It has no right being as endearing as it is.
Kenzie uses both hands to take a slow sip of her hot chocolate, thinking. Meanwhile, the blood in my ears roars louder than the Waves Stadium at peak capacity.
“Sure.”
Was there a tremble in her voice?
Kenzie coughs into her hand, most of which is covered by my hoodie cuff. “That would be nice. Thank you, Trevor.”
I can’t help but notice her formal, almost detached tone. My chest stings, but it’s the reminder I needed to stay on track.
We’re roommates.
That’s it.
Kenzie slumps in her seat with a sigh as we enter the miles of farmland that separate Wilks Beach from Virginia Beach. Tiny shoots form neat lines on either side of the winding two-laneroad. Birds flit over the fields between the far-flung farmhouses and the occasional roadside stand, still closed from winter.
