Their focus is on Maisy, so I can’t do anything but let it drop. Maybe Jonah knows what she was going to say. But he’s shaking his head and glaring at me. I turn the radio to a country station, so we aren’t overheard.
“Do you really think I have time for a boyfriend?”
“I’m not— That’s not the problem.”
“Can you give me a hint?” I ask, squeezing his leg.
“You didn’t mention your friend was going to be there.”
“So?” I don’t get why he’s so upset. “Jonah, we were barely talking to each other.”
“Right.”
I sink back in my chair, drained from the last twenty-four hours. Longer, really. Is this Jonah being butthurt over something, which he tends to do, or is it more? Can he tell I’m lying to him? What am I supposed to do? Give up my dreams for something that can’t possibly last?
Things get more tense the closer we get to our destination. Jonah is being a dick. And I can’t blame him because eventhough he’s most certainly wrong in whatever he’s thinking, I deserve every minute of this.
We stop at a roadside park. This time, there are no sandwiches to share. No Jonah and Maisy playing while Mom and George watch fondly. We eat junk out of the vending machine, and George has to scold Maisy more than once for throwing rocks at people.
I walk around, needing time to myself. A message comes in, and I ignore it. I’m not in the mood to talk to Frankie right now.
“It might be important,” Jonah says in a soft voice.
“Are you following me?” Seriously? I didn’t even hear him.
“Yes.” He smiles, and while it doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s an attempt. “I’m sorry for being a dick earlier.”
I raise a brow. “Just earlier?”
God, I love his crooked smile. “Maybe longer.” He takes a deep breath. “I hate that there’s so much I don’t know about you. That I hated you for so long without giving you a chance.” He studies the rock in his hand.
This man is too sweet for his own good. “Did you take that from Maisy?”
“She was trying to throw it at you.”
He hands it to me, and for a moment, our hands touch. “I fucking hate this, Viv.” He glances over his shoulder. “Follow me.”
We go around to the other side of the building. There are plenty of people here, but none of them have the last name Baker.
“I’m sorry.” He pulls me into his arms and holds me. “I’m being a dick, but this feels like it can’t last, and it makes me so angry.” He cups my face. “I just… I want more than a few days.”
This kiss is soft and full of something. It’s nothing like the heated ones from the night before or the light ones fromthe train. It breaks me apart and leaves me aching for more. “Jonah?—”
My phone rings. And I stare at it in horror.
“Your friend has terrible timing.”
Chopin’sFuneral Marchdrones on and on. I swallow my fear. “It isn’t Frankie.”
Stepping away from Jonah, I answer. “Hello, Father.”
