“I’m a free woman,” I announced again, just to make sure the universe heard it.
“You’ve mentioned that,” Liam said.
“I will continue to mention it. This is a time of celebration.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he adjusted the rearview mirror slightly.
The mountains rose ahead of us, pine trees layered against pine trees, the road narrowing as we left town behind. I leaned back in the seat and let myself imagine tonight. Sweatpants. Trash television. A tub of ice cream large enough to qualify as a personal failure.
No supervision.
I reached forward and nudged the thermostat up to seventy-three.
Liam’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, though I noticed they tightened a bit.
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
I had started to notice how he tracked and adjusted things. Kept everything aligned just so. It didn’t feel controlling, just… contained. Like if he didn’t hold it there, something would slip.
It didn’t bother me, but I had a brief, unwelcome thought about what it must feel like to live with that all the time.
I waited a beat, then raised the thermostat to seventy-five.
His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he didn’t look at me or fix it.
I angled my vent toward my face and pushed his slightly up, then put down my visor and slid open the vanity mirror. I left it like that.
He adjusted his posture but kept driving.
I turned the radio up, loud enough to be obnoxious.
He held out for three full seconds before he turned it down two clicks. “I’m driving.”
“I’m celebrating.”
“You’re destabilizing the cab.”
I scoffed. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“The temperature is now inefficient.”
“It’s five degrees.”
“It’s uneven. It’s wrong.”
I looked at him. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
I set it to seventy-one, which made him inhale sharply.
“That’s worse,” he said.
“Explain.”
“It’s asymmetrical.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “It’s an odd number.”
