Sloane’s mouth curved, small and unmistakable. “I know,” she said. “I love getting to.”
“When do I get to see you behind the wheel?”
Sloane’s eyes widened just a fraction before she caught herself. She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah?” Reese asked. “How long?”
Sloane paused, as if counting backward. “Six years. Maybe.”
“I’m sure Veronica could make it happen,” Reese said easily. “We could take a car out and?—”
Sloane drew in a slow breath. “Let’s hold off on that for now.”
Reese nodded immediately, the answer landing before the reason. She hadn’t meant to push. She hadn’t meant to touch anything still bruised. “Of course,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She didn’t say that she’d watched Sloane’s old races more times than she could count. Didn’t mention Abu Dhabi, where Sloane had carved through the field from thirteenth to first and won the whole damn thing. That history belonged to Sloane. Reese could wait to be invited into it.
“I did have a question for you, though,” Sloane said.
Intriguing. “And what is that?”
“Have you ever been to Venice Beach?”
Reese smiled, seeing where this was going. “Not since I was in karting.”
“Wanna go?”
CHAPTER 24
BEACH ADJACENT
Sloane leaned against the doorframe, letting the sun warm her shoulders, and watched the street for Reese’s car. Why wouldn’t she get here already? Every part of her missed Reese, craved her in so many different ways. Her humor, her body, the soft way her hair tickled Sloane’s shoulders when she leaned in close. Sloane had been anticipating having her here, in her actual space, for a long time now. She’d spent the morning tweaking the details, turning the tricky shelf plant to the right, adjusting the Race Hair, Don’t Care magnet on her fridge, fluffing the turquoise pillows on her cream-colored couch, and wholly looking at her home through Reese’s eyes to be sure it checked out. It was more than silly, she knew, because Reese was a very easy-to-please human who smiled at least once every thirty seconds and sank into new experiences like her favorite pair of shoes. She would love Sloane’s place and make herself comfortable in record time. It was one of Sloane’s favorite things about Reese. She relished life and found the dollop of awesome in most everything.
Sloane checked her watch and exhaled, realizing she felt looser than she had since Cassidy’s accident. California had shown up for the occasion. The day was impossibly good—sunbright but not harsh, the air warm without too much weight. On her walk that morning, the boardwalk had shimmered in the new light, the canal just beyond it twirling into small, dancing ripples. The palm trees swayed lazily in the ocean breeze, as if even they had nowhere urgent to be.
Now, sitting on the top step in front of her place, a few pedestrians drifted by, skateboards clattering over concrete, a dog barking at nothing in particular, but Sloane barely registered any of it. Her attention stayed fixed on the driveway, on the exact moment Reese would arrive. She rolled her lips inward, a quiet hum of happiness moving through her as she imagined Reese’s arms around her, the familiar weight of her body, the kiss that would follow after several very long days apart.
The distance was becoming a problem. Even a few days hurt. And yet, even as she ached for that closeness, Sloane hesitated. Wanting Reese this much felt like leaning into something that could vanish without warning, and Sloane had learned how quickly solid ground could give way.
When a black SUV paused in front of her house, Sloane stood and looped a strand of hair behind her ear. Reese emerged with a bag slung over her shoulder, hair down, eyes bright, and looking more beautiful than ever. “Does this place have any vacancies?” She called from the bottom of the sidewalk.
“Yes, but there’s a problem,” Sloane called back.
Reese walked toward her, head quirked. “What’s that?”
Sloane shrugged. “Only one bed.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about that,” Reese said, pressing her forehead to Sloane’s. “Except I definitely do. I’ve missed you. Hi.”
“Hi, you,” Sloane said quietly, drinking in the moment. Everything in her went warm and soft. This, this right here, was her happy place. She cradled Reese’s face, and they stayed just like that, foreheads pressed, for an extended moment. The best one, really.
“I talk to you nonstop, yet I feel like it’s been a year since I’ve seen you.”
“Half a week: cruel. Do you want to come inside? It’s almost four. In California time, it’s happy hour.”
