I flip her the bird, and her smile widens. The ways this woman messes with me. I’d sign up for a hundred more rounds and happily lose every single one.
“Go stand over there,” she directs, pointing at the overlook.
I trudge over, turning to face her with my back to the view.
“Say cheese!” she calls.
The sun is warm on my shoulders as I grin, not for the camera, but for her. “No one says that anymore!”
“Fine. Say… ‘Agatha is watching us!’”
I laugh as she clicks the shutter, and the Polaroid whirs and spits out a small square of film. Lily watches with fascination as the image develops, revealing me mid-chuckle with the canyon spreading out behind me.
“We have to take one together,” I say, reaching for the camera.
She hesitates, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.
“I’m asking for a selfie,” I tease, “not matching hiking tattoos.”
That breaks her indecision. She comes to stand beside me at the edge of the cliff. I feel her warmth next to me, smell her shampoo, and try not to picture how perfectly she would fit tucked under my arm.
“Ready?” I ask, holding the camera out in front of us.
She nods.
“Okay, make your best ‘escaped cult member’ face.”
I click, capturing her reaction. The Polaroid slides out, and I catch it, waving it to help it develop. The image solidifies into the two of us, framed against the endless blue sky. I’m looking down at her instead of the camera mouth still open, caught making her laugh. She’s half doubled over, her face scrunched up, losing it. The angle isn’t flattering; we don’t look good. But we look happy.
It’s not the kind of photo you post, but the kind you keep.
9
LILY
I rest my head against the passenger window of Josh’s truck, skin buzzing at a high voltage with nowhere for the electricity to go. I tell myself it’s the endorphins from the hike, the extra blood pumping through my system after hours of climbing hills under a bright sun. It has nothing to do with the man driving, jaw set with that reassuring confidence as he navigates the winding roads back toward the city. The same guy whose laugh has been ricocheting around my ribcage all afternoon, who’s made me smile more in one day than I have in months.
Nope. Definitely exercise afterglow. Move along folks, nothing to see here.
Josh’s truck smells like him—clean laundry, coconut, and masculinity. A small firefighter helmet charm hangs from the rearview mirror, and he keeps a box of protein bars stuffed in the center console. His phone is connected to the stereo, playing country music I’ve never heard, but that fits the mood.
I try to focus on the passing hills, but it’s useless. My attention bounces back to him whenever he so much as shifts in his seat or hums as he changes lanes. I notice every time he runs a hand through his hair. Each tiny, ordinary thing hits me sharper than the glare of the lowering sun on the hood.
We stop at a red light, and Josh turns to look at me. His face scrunches with… indecision? As if he’s debating whether to say something.
“So.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Are we heading home?”
A note of reluctance tinges his voice, as if he weren’t thrilled with the idea of our day ending. And neither am I. The thought of going back to my empty apartment and watching the hours tick by until Penny comes home tomorrow seems unbearably lonely.
“Are you kidding?” I straighten up. “We can’t skip the post-hike tacos. It’s, like, against the law in California.”
His face brightens, and I’m struck by how readable his expressions are. Josh is incapable of guile. Everything he feels plays across his features. Unless I’m projecting what I want to see. Maybe he was politely ending our day. Maybe he’s tired of my company and wants a break. And I misread his expression.
“Unless you’re tired and want to—” I backpedal.
“No way,” he interrupts. “I didn’t pretend to enjoy sweating up a mountain all day for nothing.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so you were in it just for the tacos?”
