“You were sitting beside me for three hours.”
“Didn’t answer the question.”
“I missed personal space.”
“Liar.”
I rolled my eyes, but my grip tightened.
He felt it.
Of course he did.
He lifted our joined hands and kissed my knuckles right there between baggage carousel five and a man in a Cowboys jersey arguing with a rental car app.
My stomach flipped.
“Drew.”
“What?”
“You cannot charm my entire state before we even leave the airport.”
“I can absolutely charm Texas.”
“You are not prepared.”
“Baby, I survived Richard Montgomery at Thanksgiving. Your mother doesn’t scare me.”
I laughed once.
Wrong sound.
Too sharp.
His smile faded.
I hated that he caught it.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Texas.”
I looked toward the carousel where bags had started dropping with violent thuds. “My mother is not Richard.”
“No,” he said. “She’s yours. That makes it worse.”
I turned back to him.
Sometimes Drew said things so simply it irritated me.
“She’s going to make a big deal,” I said.
“About me?”
“Yes.”
