Great.
I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets, then followed after her.
It wasn’t like I was following her.
Okay, I was. But still, she wasn’t about to just wander off alone in some random town.
When I stepped inside, she was standing by the counter, scanning the small candy rack.
Her phone was in her hand, probably paying for whatever she was buying, and the cashier was smiling too much.
She handed over cash, stuffed something into a paper bag, and turned around, almost jumped when she saw me.
I raised a brow. “You always run off mid-walk, or is this a new thing?”
Her eyes darted toward the bag, then back to me.
Secretive.
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head, pretending I didn’t care. “Keep your mystery snacks.”
She nodded and brushed past me to head back toward the bus. But when I followed a few steps behind, I glimpsed what she’d bought through the thin paper bag: bright colours, small wrappers.
Candies.
Of course.
The corner of my mouth tugged upward before I could stop it.
By the time we got back, everyone else was already piling in. The air was hot, loud, cramped, that mix of sweat, fries, and too many voices in one place.
The seats were full again.
Of course they were.
She stood there, blinking down the aisle, clutching that small paper bag like a shield.
The coach called from the front, “Come on, Campbell, sit down! We’re moving!”
I didn’t even think. I just reached out, caught her wrist before she could turn, and tugged.
“Here,” I muttered, guiding her back into the same spot as before.
My seat.
My lap.
She froze, still not used to me, though she had sat here for hours already.
“Relax,” I said lowly, shifting her, so she was sitting properly. “Don’t overthink it; there’s still no space.”
The bus jolted forward, and her hand instantly went to the seat in front to steady herself. The other was still holding that paper bag.
God.
She smelled like vanilla and cheap diner coffee.
And then she reached into the bag.
