Me:Unfortunately.
Reece:Meet me.
Me:It’s 11 p.m.
Reece:And?
Me:Normal people sleep.
Reece:We’re not normal people.
He sends an address.
I should ignore it.
Go to bed.
Be responsible.
I’m in my car ten minutes later.
The address leads to an overlook outside the city, empty except for his truck. He’s sitting on the tailgate when I pull up, two takeout bags beside him.
“You brought food?”
“I brought tacos.” He pats the space next to him. “And a view.”
The city sprawls below us, lights twinkling against the dark. It’s admittedly beautiful, and the tacos smell incredible.
I climb onto the tailgate. “This is ridiculous.”
“This is romantic.”
“It’s a truck bed.”
“It’s a truck bed with tacos and excellent company.” He hands me a wrapped taco. “Admit it, you’re charmed.”
“I’m cold.”
Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s warm from his body heat and smells entirely too good.
“Better?” he asks.
“Marginally.”
We eat in comfortable silence, watching the city. My shoulder brushes his, and neither of us moves away. When I finish my taco, he hands me another without asking.
“You’re going to make me fat,” I complain.
“You’re perfect.”
The casual way he says it, matter-of-fact and sincere, does something catastrophic to my defenses.
“You can’t say things that easily.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I gesture vaguely. “Because it’s too much.”
