“Begging,” I whisper airily.
I take a step around him and head to the luggage carousel that’s begun circulating the checked bags. Instinctively, I pull out my phone to let Jess know I’ve landed safely before I remember there’s no one on the other end of the line. My heart sinks as I slip it back into my pocket.
It’s been nearly five years, and sometimes, I still forget she’s gone.
“Ready to go?” I glance up and lock eyes with Griffin.
He’s got my black hard shell suitcase in one hand and his brown leather duffle slung over the opposite shoulder.
I reach out to take mine from him, but he pulls away. “My wife doesn’t carry her own bags.”
My eyes roll of their own volition. “Don’t you think you’re taking this whole husband and wife thing a little too far?”
“Too far was saying ‘I do’ in front of three strangers in a little white chapel. We might as well go all the way.”
Griffin carries our bags through the sliding doors, pausing on the sidewalk near the line of cars waiting to pick up their passengers. “Stay here. I’ll go get the truck.”
I want to argue with him, but I suspect I’ll lose, and I don’t have it in me to go ten rounds with him today. I’ve been beaten down enough for one weekend.
He pulls up a few minutes later in his familiar black truck with the Whispering Oaks Ranch logo on the door. The window rolls down, and he grins. “Hey, pretty lady. Need a ride?”
I roll my eyes and try to stifle my own smile, but it’s so hard when he’s just so… him.
Afterunceremoniously shoving my wedding gown into the backseat with my carry-on, I slide into the front. He pulls away from the curb without a word, and I’m grateful for the silence. I need time to think about what I want before we talk about the elephant in the room.
I rest my head against the window and close my eyes.
Minutes pass, maybe hours, it’s hard to say. The truck slows, and I open my eyes to find that we’re in a coffee shop drive-thru.
He rolls down his window and speaks into the intercom. “I have a pickup order for Griffin.”
When did he place the order? Did he schedule it while he was waiting for me at the airport?
A cheerful voice responds. “Got it. You can pull up.”
When we stop at the window, the worker hands him two drinks and a small bag. He sets the drinks in the cup holders and hands me the bag.
“Thanks. Have a great day.” Griffin slips ten dollars into the tip jar before pulling away from the window.
“That one is yours,” he says, gesturing to the iced coffee near my thigh.
I pick it up and read the label. It’s my exact order down to the brown sugar syrup and the extra shot of espresso.
“You know my coffee order?”
“I know a lot of things. Want me to list them for you?”
“Nope.”
He gives me a crooked grin and nods toward the bag I forgot I was holding. “Open it,” he says, turning back onto the interstate.
The paper crinkles as I unfold the top, and the scent of cinnamon sugar floods my senses. “You got me a cinnamon roll?”
“Why is that so surprising?”
I don’t have an answer, so I bite into the warm pastry and savor the flavor.
It shouldn’t be shocking that someone would know what I like, but I was with Tyler for three years, and he never got my order right without explicit instructions. Even then, he’d still find some way to fuck it up.
