“Drive safe,” I say, a warm feeling settling in my chest.
“I will.”
I slide my phone back into my bag after texting him the address, and a grin breaks across my face as I walk back to the hotel. I’m done pretending independence means isolation.
THIRTY-ONE
GABRIEL | VARAZZE
The rental car smells horrible,and I grip the steering wheel tighter than I need to while Zale slouches in the passenger seat like he’s being forced to be here, as if he didn’t beg his way into the seat.
“You know,” he says, adjusting the air vent toward himself, “you don’t have to sit that close to the wheel. You're not eighty.”
I keep my eyes on the road. “And you don’t have to touch things that aren’t yours.”
As if on cue, he twists the radio knob from upbeat music to a monotone Italian news broadcast. I immediately twist it back and shoot him a glare.
“Touch it again,” I warn, “and you’ll lose your fingers.”
He smirks. “You’re so high-strung.”
“I’m driving in a foreign country with my girlfriend’s little brother who’s actively trying to piss me off. Forgive me for not being relaxed.”
“I’m not little,” he mutters, folding his arms across his chest.
“You’re younger.”
“I’m only two years younger than Zalea.”
“Still younger.”
He huffs and sinks lower in his seat as the Mediterranean ocean flashes blue through the windshield, and the road curves along the coast. It’s breathtaking, and it would be so peaceful if he would just shut up.
“You missed that turn,” he says.
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Your GPS is recalculating.”
I glance down at my phone and see that it is indeed recalculating. Gritting my teeth, I follow the new directions while Zale bursts out laughing as he watches me.
“Relax, Gabe. It’s not a competition.”
I refuse to answer to that nickname, and the bickering finally fizzles out as silence stretches between us.
“So,” he says after a few minutes. “I hear you changed your mind.”
I keep my eyes on the road. “About what?”
“Everything.” He pauses. “She mentioned you want kids now.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Are you scared?”
