“Yeah.” My heart was about to pound clean out of my chest.
Peeling myself off him, I backed up and planted my feet firmly on the ground. “Don’t think this gets you off the hook. If you’re giving me shit about roadside bathroom breaks, it’s only fair you never forget how you made a girl change your tire.”
“First of all, it’s your tire, and second of all, emotional support is just as important as every other kind.” He handed me a socket when I needed a wrench.
But that was the extent of the misfires for the duration of securing the spare, and we were ready to go in only a few minutes.
“Not bad,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat.
He climbed in beside me, eyes still locked on mine as he started the engine. “Side note, in the spirit of full disclosure: I’m still completely and utterly useless with tools.”
“Spoiler alert: I know.”
Our laughter mixed with the radio and he merged back onto the highway, the sun moving closer to the horizon. I caught him stealing a glance at me from the corner of his eye, a little shy, a lot smug, and my stomach turned in that way it always did around him.
We fell into another stretch of silence, music humming low in the background, windows down to let in wind that tangled our hair. By late afternoon, the sun was dipping, turning the landscape copper, and we were running low on snacks. That meant a gas station stop. I grabbed protein bars and a soda, Landon muttering about caffeine intake.
“Better safe than sorry,” I said, tossing him a bottle of water.
Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be more hours, more of them passed, mile markers ticked by. We bickered over stupid things, we talked about nothing in particular, we got lost once, sending us through a narrow back road lined with cornfields. I laughed so hard I had to hold the seatbelt to keep from sliding off my seat while Landon filled me in on GPS conspiracy theories.
By evening, we weren’t really listening to the music all that much. We just let it play as background filler to the road and our easy conversation.
Heat rose in my chest as I stole a glance in his direction. I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Not James. Not even Rosemary.
“You’re not so bad, Landon.” His name came out as a yawn, and my head rolled back, eyes drooping.
“I could say the same about you,” he replied.
We were quiet after that, mostly. Words weren’t necessary. The road stretched long, the sky turning pink and violet above us. We passed another rest stop, but neither of us needed it. Fatigue pressed against our shoulders, and the kind of conversation that required words didn’t seem urgent anymore.
Finally, headlights ahead flickered over a familiar neon sign. Landon slowed, pulling the SUV into the lot, tires crunching gravel. A diner. Evening light made the windows glow warm.He killed the engine and sat back, stretching his arms over the wheel.
I threw my door open and kicked my legs out to savor the space. This had been perfect. Eight hours of ridiculousness, frustration, laughter, teasing, and quiet moments that had somehow contracted and folded us together.
Whatever happened with us, I was ready to bet my holy grail we’d at least stay friends.
Landon gestured at the glowing diner. “Hungry?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. The doors gleamed in the dusky light, the promise of food, heat, and a pause from the last bit of road just ahead.
The diner smelled like bacon and buttered toast the second we stepped inside, a little slice of small-town heaven that made the last few hours of road almost worth it. We slid into a booth near the window, the sun dipping low, casting streaks of gold across the red vinyl seats.
“I need something that will hit all the food groups,” I said, scanning the laminated menu like it held the answers to life itself. “Protein, carbs, sugar… all of it.”
“You’re in luck,” Landon said, flicking his eyes over the same menu. “This place is a one-stop shop for heart-stopping nutrition. Literally.”
“So you’re a food critic now, huh?” I chuckled low.
“An athlete who gets paid to keep his heart in optimal condition.”
The athlete didn’t object when I ordered a plate piled high with fried chicken, creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, buttery corn on the side, and a slice of pecan pie to finish. Landon had coffee and a side of fries. I went for sweet tea. When the foodarrived, it was everything I’d hoped for—rich, salty, sweet. I dug in immediately, savoring every bite, while Landon was satisfied picking at his fries.
“You really commit,” he said. “I like that.”
“I commit to food,” I replied, giving him a pointed look that earned a laugh.
Halfway through our plates, Landon leaned back, coffee in hand. “So,” he said casually, “I went ahead and booked us a hotel for tonight.”
