The sedan's engine cuts off. A door opens. Voices drift through the night air, muffled but distinct.
I freeze.
"Is that..." I peer through the fog on the window, trying to make out faces in the dark.
"Deputy Miller and his girlfriend." Carlos sounds amused. "Looks like we're not the only ones with the make out idea tonight."
"Oh my god." I drop down flat against his chest, like somehow making myself smaller will prevent them fromnoticing the very obvious truck parked fifteen feet away. "This is so embarrassing."
"Why?" His hand finds my hair, fingers combing through the tangled mess. "We're consenting adults. They're consenting adults. Everyone's just having a good time."
"Because Deputy Miller works with Nacho. Because his girlfriend is Sharon's niece. Because by tomorrow morning the entire town is going to know that Carlos Negrorio and the runaway bride were fogging up windows at the overlook like a couple of teenagers."
"Good." He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Let them know. Let the whole town know. I'm not hiding this, Jess. I'm not hiding you."
My heart does something complicated in my chest. Flip, twist, squeeze, expand.
"You're not embarrassed?"
"Why would I be embarrassed?" He brushes his thumb across my lower lip. "I've got the most gorgeous woman in Largo Waters half naked in my truck. I'm the luckiest bastard alive."
"Carlos."
"I'm serious." He sits us both up, settling me in his lap facing him. The position puts us eye to eye, and his expression is so open, so honest, it makes my throat tight. "I spent six years pretending I didn't want you. Six years watching you with him. Six years hating myself for feeling things I thought I wasn't allowed to feel."
"And now?"
"Now I'm done pretending." He cups my face with both hands. "Now I want everyone to know. Want them to see us together and know that you chose this. Chose me. Chose all of us."
The words settle into my bones like warm honey.
Chose this. Chose me.
When was the last time I chose something just because I wanted it? Not because it was sensible or appropriate or what people expected. Not because it would make my mother happy or look good on paper or fit into some predetermined life plan.
When was the last time I chose joy?
"I'm still embarrassed," I admit. "But I'm also kind of glad they're here."
"Yeah?" He grins. "Why's that?"
"Because it makes it real." I gesture vaguely at the fogged windows, at the sedan parked nearby, at the world beyond this truck cab. "Not just something happening in private that we can pretend didn't happen later. It's real. People will know. There's no taking it back."
"Do you want to take it back?"
"No." The word comes out firm. Sure. "I really, really don't."
He kisses me then. Slow and sweet and thorough, like we have all the time in the world. Like we're not half dressed in a truck with Deputy Miller probably wondering whose vehicle is steaming up the overlook on a Tuesday night.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and dizzy and completely certain that this is the best decision I've made in years.
"We should go home," I say.
"Yeah." He doesn't move. Neither do I.
"Everyone's probably wondering where we are."
"Probably."
