Pulled something out.
I glanced down. A lollipop.
My throat tightened.
Without looking at me, she held it out in front of me like a silent peace offering.
Same brand. Same colour. The same kind she gave me before. The one I kept on my bedside table.
My hand hovered, pulse in my fingertips, before I finally took it from her. For a second, I just stared at it.
I don’t know what the hell she’s trying to do to me, but it’s working.Without thinking too much, because thinking would’ve stopped me, I peeled the wrapper open, the crinkle of plastic loud between us.
Her head tilted slightly, as if she were listening.
When I finally popped it into my mouth, her eyes flickered sideways, just for a second, and I caught it, that tiny, barely there smile before she looked away again.
The flavour hit—sweet cherry—and I hated how it made me grin.
It wasn’t the candy.
It was her.
All I could think about was that she gave it to me.
Not Miles.
Not anyone else.
Me.
I leaned back, watching her reflection in the window, the lollipop stick between my teeth.
Sweet. Her and the candy
The ride stretched on.
The others were loud again: music, laughter, someone yelling about snacks, but none of it reached me. She was still in my lap, back straight, paper bag clutched in both hands, that little crease between her brows from focusing too hard. Every few seconds, she’d shift, trying to get comfortable without really moving.
Then her hand went slack.
The paper bag slid a little.
And her head, soft, slow, tipped sideways, making my hand shoot out instinctively to catch it.
I froze.
Did she fall asleep?
She was able to fall asleep among the chaos? She must be really tired.
I shouldn’t have cared, but I did.
Careful not to jostle her, I slid an arm around her waist, my other hand still holding her face like a pillow and shifted her closer, turning her body just enough for her to be comfortable.
Her hand slipped against my chest as she adjusted in her sleep, head rolling down my hand and forearm to my biceps, and my entire body went rigid.
Every part of her felt small against me.
