The crackling of plastic stops me. I look over to see her diving into a bag of Doritos. I bite back a laugh. “Addie. It’s four in the morning.”
She crunches down on a handful. “So?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. Just…try not to make a mess.”
I just cleaned my truck out last night for her, but I won’t tell her that.
“I’m not, see?”
I watch her chomping away, the crumbs falling back in the bag. I just shake my head and smile.
* * *
Around 6 a.m., we stop at a gas station so I can fill up and hopefully be good for the rest of the drive out.
Addison unbuckles her seat belt. “I’m gonna pee and get a coffee, you want?” she asks.
“Yeah, coffee.” I pull a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and hand it over.
She scrunches her eyebrows. “How many cups do you want?” She snorts.
“Just one, but use it to get whatever you want too—breakfast sandwich, bagel, whatever you want.”
“Doyouwant a breakfast sandwich?”
“Sure.” I slip out of my truck and watch her walk across the parking lot. The wind whistles. Addison gathers her brown hair in her hands and ties it up into a ponytail by the time she reaches the door.
I’m impressed with how well she’s doing with her anxiety and all. She said she took a Dramamine before I picked her up, so I guess that’s probably why she seems to be fine.
As I’m hanging the nozzle back up, I catch Addison’s blue sweatshirt coming back, her arms full of stuff. She’s got a coffee in each hand and a bag hanging off each of her wrists. The receipt is flying in the wind.
“Oh boy. What did you find?” I ask her. She sets the coffees on the bed rail, her face lit up like a Christmas tree as she digs through one of the bags.
“Wes,” she says, “they hadblueSour Patch Kids! Nowhere ever has the blue ones; it’s always green or yellow, which are disgusting. I got four bags!” she exclaims, heading to the cab.
She might be the easiest person to please. I mean, c’mon…have you ever seen anyone this stoked for blue candy? You’d have thought she just won the lottery.
I get back in my seat, start the truck up, and dial the heat on. Meanwhile, she hands me my breakfast sandwich. There go our fingers touching again for a millisecond. Lord help me.
I clear my throat. “Did you have any change left over? My guess is no,” I tease.
“Oh, yeah I do.” She sets our coffees in the cupholders and Iwatch her dig in her pocket.
“Here.” She extends her hand.
A single quarter and a dime fall in my palm. I stare at them, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Wow, a whole thirty-five cents. That’s really going to take me places.”
“Hmm,” she hums. “Well, there’s your quarter to call someone who cares.” She snickers, pulling on her seat belt. A laugh escapes me, watching her laugh at her Travis Tritt comeback.
That might be one of my favorite things about her. She’s got quick wit.
Forty-five more minutes pass. We ate our breakfast, drank our coffees, and now Addison is changing the music on me again. First, we listened to nineties country, then new country, and now I think she’s switching to country rock.
“Ooh! Have you ever heard this?” she asks and turns it up.
“I mean”—I laugh—“I’m hearing it now.” I can feel the bass in my chest.
“Guess who it is,” she quizzes me before the singer starts.
