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I glanced over. His head rested against the seat back, sunglasses covering his eyes. One hand lay relaxed on his thigh. For several quiet minutes, he simply watched the world pass through the windshield.
Then—
“You love me.”
I nearly swerved. My eyes shot to him. “What?”
A smile spread across his face. “You love me.”
I laughed. “Yes.”
His smile somehow widened. Like I’d just handed him the greatest piece of information he’d ever received.
“That’s nice.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. The medication was working overtime.
“That’s nice?” I repeated.
“Mm-hmm.”
He nodded thoughtfully, pointing toward the windshield.
“Sky’s blue.”
“Excellent observation.”
“Truck’s blue too.”
“Also true.”
His head turned toward me, completely serious.
“Your eyes are blue.”
I blinked. “What?”
“The color.” His finger waved vaguely toward the hood.
“The truck. Custom color.”
I looked ahead. Then back at him. Then ahead again.
“I’m sorry. Are you saying your truck is the color of my eyes?”
“Yep.” The answer came instantly, like there was no other possible explanation. Heat crept into my cheeks.
“Lane.”
“What?”
“When did you paint the truck?”
His head lolled toward me. “Yearsss ago.”
I almost missed the next turn. “Years ago?”
“Yep.”
