And for the first time, I wonder if we hadn’t made the choices we did, would we still be sitting here, in this truck, together now?
I guess we’ll never know.
The drive is calm, a kind of calm that sinks into my bones and makes me forget the noise of everything else. The wind rushes past the windows, tousling strands of my hair as Brooks navigates the winding mountain roads like he’s done it a thousand times. Maybe he has.
I stare out the window, watching white clouds drift across a cobalt sky so wide it makes LA feel like a shoebox. I used to think the city skyline was the best view in the world. But now this—this endless stretch of blue and the quiet hush of the trees—makes me question everything I thought I knew.
Brooks drives in silence, like he understands that this moment doesn’t need to be filled with small talk. Eventually, he pulls off the main road and onto a narrow, cracked path that looks like it hasn’t seen maintenance in a decade.
"Where are we going?" I ask, eyeing the road suspiciously.
He smirks like he’s up to something. "It’s an adventure, Ellie. We’re going where the wind takes us."
"You are a terrible liar," I say, shooting him a side-eye. "You know exactly where we’re going."
He chuckles. "Okay, maybe I do. But we need to eat lunch. And what’s wrong with knowing a little spot with a view?"
I glance back out the window, a smile pulling at my lips. A nice view. Yeah, we’re definitely on the same wavelength.
Brooks turns a corner, and I inhale sharply. There’s a view of the valley below that takes my breath away.
"I’m going to turn the truck around so we can eat on the tailgate," Brooks says, steering us under a canopy of trees beforereversing into a shaded spot. He does it with such little effort, his arm stretched across the back of my seat, that I find myself watching the muscle in his forearm flex as he turns the wheel.
He parks, grabs the ice chest from the back seat, and we both circle around the truck. I pull the tailgate down, and Brooks hops up first, setting the ice chest behind us. I climb up more cautiously, trying not to notice the way our legs brush. Brooks doesn’t move. I do.
The view below is stunning. The valley sprawls beneath us like a secret the mountains have been keeping. Beautiful. Untouched. Quiet in a way LA never is.
"Sandwich," Brooks says, handing me the turkey on wheat we grabbed earlier.
"Thanks," I murmur as he reaches in again and pulls out two sparkling waters. When our fingers graze, something sparks in my chest, and I’m not ready to admit what it is. Maybe it’s just annoyance. Or static. Or...no. I’m not going there.
"Why this spot?" I ask, peeling the wrapper back from my sandwich.
"I used to come here when I needed to think," he says around a bite of chicken salad on a croissant.
He brought me to his thinking spot. That’s not nothing. That’s trust, quiet and unspoken.
"Have you ever brought Jasper here?" I ask quietly.
Brooks shakes his head. "No. No one." There’s a pause before he adds, “Just you."
That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. But it does.
A warm breeze lifts the ends of my hair as I shift closer to him. He doesn’t move away.
"Do you ever wonder what you’d be doing right now if your parents were alive?" I ask, my fingers brushing against the back of his hand.
"Sometimes," he admits.
"Is it okay that I asked?"
He nods. "Yeah. I like when people ask about them. I didn’t really know them, but... I still like thinking about them."
"What if we lose my dad?" I whisper.
Brooks turns toward me. "Then we’ll do what we always do."
"What’s that?" I ask, my voice catching.
