Page 59 of Wells

"What about you?"

I blink up at him.

"What about me?"

"Your people."

The question catches me off guard. Not because it's invasive, but because no one usually asks, and because I keep these cards close. I don't like people feeling sorry for me, or sizing me up by where I came from.

I hesitate, not sure where to start.

"You'll laugh, but my people are my yoga people. There's Locke, my best friend since college. He's a lovable lunatic. And the kids at the rec center where I volunteer."

Wells nods, his fingers still moving along my back.

"And your family?"

I tense, just a little, and I know he feels it.

"I'm not really close with my family like you are."

I keep it simple and factual because the rest of it is buried under something I never say out loud, the real reason that house stayed so cold, the thing the three of us lived on top of and never once named.

The empty rooms, the nights on the roof, how early I learned no one was coming to check on me are my burden to bear. Lying here with his heartbeat under my ear, there's a pull to hand all of it over, the way he handed me his mother out on that balcony, and it scares me more than anything we did in this bed.

I've spent my whole life making sure no one got all the way in to protect myself. He's the first person I've ever wanted to let through, and I have no idea what to do with that.

Wells doesn't ask for more. His thumb keeps brushing the small of my back in a steady rhythm. We're quiet for several minutes, him rubbing slow circles, me with my eyes closed against his chest, until his phone vibrates on the nightstand.

He shifts beneath me, reaching for it. His other hand stays on my hip, fingers pressing just enough to hold me in place.

He reads the screen and exhales dramatically.

"What is it?"

"Looks like I do need to go by the terminal before we head to the airport."

He sets the phone down and turns his head toward me.

"You can stay here while I run out or come with me on our way out. I don't think I'll be more than an hour or so. Either way, your call."

Calculating the timeline in my head, I'd prefer not wasting time going back and forth. "How about I go with you and I'll work in the car while you do whatever it is you have to do?"

"Okay. I'm going to jump in the shower. Do you think you can be ready to head out in forty-five?"

"You bet."

I roll off him, giving him space to get out of the bed, but he doesn't move yet. Instead, he shifts, rolling slightly so he can reach me, and then his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is unhurried, tender. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone.

When he pulls back, his gaze holds mine for a beat longer than necessary. Then he gets up, reaching for his pants on the floor beside the bed.

I stay where I am, watching him dress, and try to convince myself the kiss doesn't mean anything.

The car ride to the terminal is quiet. Wells sits beside me, laptop balanced on his knee, and I watch the flat stretch of Florida coast blur past the window.

He doesn't talk much, but his hand rests on the seat between us, close enough that his knuckles brush my thigh when the car turns.