Oh no.
My heart does this weird little flip in my chest.
“Are you?” I start, then stop myself.
He looks at me then, eyes narrowing.
“Am I what?”
I bite my lip.
Trying not to smile.
“Nothing,” I say lightly, turning away before he can see too much.
But inside?
Yeah.
Inside, my pulse is doing a whole lot of things it probably shouldn’t be doing.
Because the idea that Benji—Benjamin Gunner—might be even a little bit jealous?
It’s dangerously appealing.
And incredibly stupid.
I shake my head, grabbing a drink from the gas station cooler once we head inside.
Do not go there, Esme.
Do. Not.
We get back on the road, and the hours roll by easy after that.
Music.
Silence.
Conversation that dips in and out of something real and something careful.
We stop for food somewhere in Ohio—greasy burgers and fries—and I catch Benji watching me more than once like he’s trying to memorize something.
Or maybe trying to figure me out.
Joke’s on him.
I don’t think I’ve even figured myself out yet.
By the time he pulls the truck into a parking lot, the sky’s gone dark, stretched wide and endless in that way only open land can manage.
It’s beautiful.
Quiet.
A little lonely.
I look around, not recognizing the small, roadside hotel.
