“This is insane,” I murmur, more to myself than him. “First you show up outta nowhere, and now your truck materializes itself in my driveway?”
“I told you I was remembering things,” he says, shooting me a glance. “Things you didn’t write. Like this truck. I rebuilt the engine myself after I got back from my last tour.”
“Tour? Like, military?”
“Afghanistan. Two tours.”
I frown. “I never actually wrote that either. It was just an idea.”
His knuckles go white as he grips the steering wheel. “But I still remember all of it. The heat, the dust, the way the air smelled right before a sandstorm hit.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes, the radio playing softly in the background. I watch his face and wonder what else he remembers.
“What else?”
Unclenching his hands, he taps his thumb against the steering wheel, thinking for a few moments before he answers. “I remember the shop where I bought this truck and the first time I took it off-roading. Oh! And the dent I put in the tailgate? It’s from when I backed into a light pole outside my tattoo parlor.”
My stomach does a somersault. “Yourtattoo parlor?”
He nods. “Skin & Ink.”
“Never heard of it.”
He shrugs. “Not yet. But who knows what tomorrow will bring?”
FOURTEEN
ryder
I pulloff onto a narrow dirt road leading up to a ridge overlooking the lake and cut the engine.
The silence that follows is broken only by the sound of our breathing. The lake stretches out like a mirror, reflecting the stars as they start winking to life in the darkening sky.
“This is beautiful,” Noia breathes, voice soft with wonder.
When I look at her, the dashboard lights are casting shadows across her face. “Yeah, it is.”
Her lips part slightly as she takes in the scenery. I lick my lips, my heart rate speeding up at the sight of the gentle curve of her neck as she leans forward to peer out the windshield.
“How did you know about this place?”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “I just... drove? It felt like I already knew where I was going.”
Releasing the seatbelt, she turns to face me, tucking one leg under the other. “This is all so fucking weird, Ryder. Your truck appearing out of nowhere, you remembering things I never wrote. What’s happening to us?”
“I think the real question should be: What’s happening to you?”
Her brow furrows.
“Think about it. The longer I’m here the more I remember about a life I didn’t have before. But what if it’s not just about me being real? What if it’s about you finally letting yourselfbelievein something real?”
She goes quiet, chewing on her bottom lip—a habit I find incredibly distracting.
“You think I’m making this happen somehow?”
“I think you’re a powerful woman who has spent years writing about passion and connection, all while denying yourself both. Maybe your subconscious finally got tired of the bullshit and decided to take matters into its own hands.”
“By manifesting a fictional book-boyfriend?”
