My fingers soon graze his as I accept the warm beverage. He lingers in the contact a few seconds longer than necessary, and my first sip tickles a path into my stomach.
Stop that.
I take a measured step back. “Logan’s on his way to take me to the set,” I say. Out the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of his red car. “Speaking of...”
Trent shifts again.
Logan approaches, winding down his window. “Morning.” What’s going on?
“He’s a friend,” I say swiftly, as if to console Logan, but only Trent is meant to read it that way. “Surprise visit.”
Logan nicks his head to Trent. “Gotcha. He’ll give you a ride then?”
“It’s his day off,” I start, but Trent coolly replies.
“I’ll drive him in. We’d love to catch up.”
Logan throws us a thumbs up. “See you there soon.”
His window scrolls up as he drives off.
Trent herds me towards the passenger side and opens the door. And I stare at it as he heads back to his side and slides behind the wheel.
It feels like, if I slide into the seat, I’m saying yes to the question Trent is really asking.I’m still the one you really care about, right?
I press my lips tight and glare at him. Can he handle the answer?
“Hm?” Trent asks.
I shuffle in, hesitant, perched tight in the seat. With this stiffness, I won’t answer that silent question to satisfaction. With this, he’ll keep wondering. And so, we’ll continue to drift.
I set my bag on the floor and catch Trent’s gaze slipping from my lower back quickly to the street. His hands regripping the wheel.
“You’re wearing...” he clears his throat. “Seventies clothing.”
“Indie time-travel film.”
He nods and drives, following my directions and then following Logan’s car when we catch up to it.
There’s a slight stiffness to him too. His shoulders are locked, and he doesn’t sit easy in his seat. But I’m not sure if it’s because of Logan, or if something else is eating at him.
It reminds me of his broken voice over the phone.
“If you could time-travel to any era,” he asks, as if to say something, to keep the conversation afloat, to keep it away from the real reasons he’s here, “what’d be your choice?”
I adjust the belt across my pounding chest. “Shakespearean England, when the theatre scene exploded. Packed theatres, new plays weekly, a staple of the culture—” I halt suddenly, swallow, and say quieter, “Or maybe ten years ago.”
Trent glances at me and back to the road, with a solemn nod.
How could I forget that? Even for a moment.
Trent hums. “I’d go back to before industrialisation and see how the kelp forests flourished back then. Although, Shakespearean England is sounding good to me right now, so I can see your ascent to fame.”
I know what he’s doing. My chest swells.
He’s making it harder.
I hide a soft smile towards the passenger window. “Hey, we’ll see. Maybe you’ll see flourishing kelp forests in this lifetime too.”
