You can do this, Lexy. It’s just lunch.
I step outside, the cold air hitting my face, sharp and grounding, but it doesn’t do much to settle the mess inside my chest.
I follow him to his truck. It’s black, big, and so… well,Dex. A massive lifted pickup with rugged tires, a little dusty from country roads, and a bed that looks like it’s actually used for work instead of just show.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I stop, staring.
“What?” he asks.
“You don’t need to do that.” I shake my head.
“My mama taught me well, so suck it up and let me open doors for you, will you?” He raises one eyebrow.
“Okay, boss,” I grumble as I climb in.
He chuckles as he closes my door.
A moment later, the driver’s door opens and he climbs in, the truck dipping slightly under his weight. His scent fills the cab.
It settles around me, grounding in a way I don’t want to think about too much.
The engine rumbles to life.
For a few minutes, we drive in silence while I stare out the window, trying to calm the storm of nerves in my stomach.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he says finally.
“I’m mentally preparing for interrogation.”
He snorts. “It’s lunch, Lexy. Not a police interview.”
“That’s easy for you to say. They’re your parents.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
“Relax,” he says. “My mama already likes you.”
My head snaps toward him. “She’s never met me.”
He glances at me briefly before looking back at the road.
“She doesn’t need to.”
My heart does a strange little flip at that.
I don’t understand why.
The truck slows as he turns onto a long dirt road, and the sunlight pouring through the windshield catches the tattoos running along his forearm as he steers with one hand. Dark ink moves with the flex of his muscles, disappearing beneath the rolled sleeve of his shirt.
I look away quickly before he catches me staring.
After a few minutes, we leave town behind and turn onto a long dirt road that cuts through miles of open fields. Winter-yellow grass stretches on both sides, flattened in places by old snow and wind, broken only by wooden fences and the occasional group of horses grazing lazily.
Bare cottonwood trees line the gravel road leading deeper into the property, their tall gray branches rattling softly in the cold breeze, waiting for spring to wake them again.
In the distance, mountains rise against the wide Wyoming sky, their peaks dusted with snow.
Something in my chest tightens as the land stretches out around us.
