“It’s noon. I should know. I checked the boarding pass last night.”
“So did I. Mine says—” Her words stop short as we exchange glances. “Oh.” Like last time, it’s another startling punch to the gut. It doesn’t have to be stated. We don’t have the same flights heading home.
A tense weight hangs heavily between us in the silence that follows.
Her head dips, her gaze dropping to the cobblestone ground. “I had a really good time with you, Ethan Tadeo Carter,” she murmurs, a lingering note of sorrow in her voice. “If you’re ever in LA, for whatever reason that might be, hit me up, so we can have a fruity drink.”
“And if you’re ever in Oregon?—”
“I’ll meet up with you after you swear not to drag me to a bazillion hiking trails?” she says. “Wait. You don’t have my number. Let me give—” Her attention slices to the tray in my hand. “How about we do this back at the hotel?”
“Honored to be the first guy you give your number to.”
A soft, creaky laugh escapes her. “As crazy as this sounds,” she says, her eyes going soft as they meet mine, “I’m really going to miss hanging out with you.”
There’s a slight pang in my chest at the genuine, unwavering vulnerability washing over her face. “Me too.” I swallow past the lump lodging in my throat. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“At seven-fifteen, as always?” she says with an amused curve to her lips.
The answering grin slides across my face in an instant. “At seven-fifteen on the dot.”
15
BARBIE
MONDAY, JULY 21ST
LA’sinfamous traffic is at a standstill, which is a nightmare, a test of sheer will, and business as usual. I stare blankly ahead and try not to smack my head into the steering wheel and give up on life.
“Maybe we should reconsider if LA is right for us?” I ask blandly.
Bell snorts from the passenger seat. “We should have left an hour earlier?—”
“And whose fault is that?” I counter. “Who decided to wake me up this morning?—”
“That was my bad.” Bell holds her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry. I should have told you right away when the landlord scheduled the tour.”
I heave out a muted sigh and shove my fingers through my hair. After the all-nighter and the few hours of sleep I managed last night, I’m running on fumes. “It’s fine, Bell.”
“No, it was super irresponsible of me,” she responds. “I was gonna tell you last night when you came home, but I forgot.”
“At least we’ll make it on time for the tour,” I say, pausing for a beat. “Hopefully.”
“At least you get to spend some time with your favorite sister,” Bell says. I glance sideways at her for a split second and return my attention to the road. “Hey.”
“Betty doesn’t give me ulcers.”
“Betty doesn’t give you the stray curly fry from her normal fries, either.” She leans over, grabs my phone from the cup holder, and skips the current song, then the next ten. “Do you have anything fromthisdecade?”
“That song was on the radio last year.”
“Nobody listens to the radio anymore,” she teases. “Here. Let me introduce you to—Who’s Unphotogenic Pilot and why did he textwhere are you?”
“Bellie, it isrudeto read other people’s conversations,” I gasp, extending my arm to reach for my phone.
“And saving the guy asunphotogenicin your contacts isn’t?” she shoots back, slapping my hand away. “He doesn’t even look bad. He’s—hmm. Okay. Why are his shoulders like that?”
“Don’t make fun of how dorky he looks.” The freeway’s still a parking lot, so I turn to glare at her. “Give me back my phone.”
