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I blew out a breath. I finished pumping the gas, locked the doors, auto started the car for the dog, and went in after Larissa. I found her in the chip aisle, a bag of Lay’s and pretzels under her arm.

“Twizzlers?” she asked, holding them up. “And I got you that energy drink you like.”

“How do you know I like it?”

“Trauma bond.”

I eyed her.

“I saw it on your coffee table when I was picking up Woofarine,” she said. “I did not go in your room.”

“Hey, Nancy is hard to say no to.”

“Oh, I know. You should see all the streaming passwords we have.”

I snorted. “Let me take this,” I said, grabbing things from her.

I took the snacks, picked up a new sponge, went to the counter, and pulled out my wallet.

“Let me give you money,” she said, coming up behind me.

“No.”

“Can I pay for gas?” she asked, hovering.

“Also no.”

“Chriiiiis.”

“I’d be buying the gas whether you were in my car or not,” I said, tapping my card.

“Then let’s take my car next time.”

“Nope. Your car’s a piece of shit.”

She choked on her laugh. “Oh, wow. You know, I can’t believe I thought you were crabby once.”

I had to look away from her. That was becoming my least favorite memory.

When we got back in the car, she picked up where we left off. “You don’t need to always pay for everything.” She dug in the bag of snacks and opened the Twizzlers. She stuck one in her mouth and handed me two. “It’s okay for some things to be a negotiation.”

“I’ll let you pick the music,” I said, biting the licorice.

She rolled her eyes but she was smiling. Little dimple. I forced my gaze away from her to start the car.

I would never let her pay for anything or take her money. Never. She couldn’t afford it. And the reason I didn’t let her drive was because I wanted her to relax on the way up, look out the window, scroll on her phone if she felt like it. I don’t think she actually wanted to drive, she just didn’t want it to be unfair. I didn’t care about fair. I wasn’t keeping score.

And I wasn’t letting her take her car. I meant that part—it was a piece of shit.

“You know, I bet if you let your beard grow in for the next few days, you wouldn’t be able to see the marker,” she said.

I put a hand to my chin. “I don’t think I’d look good in a beard.”

“I bet you’d look distinguished.”

“This isn’t distinguished?” I said, gesturing to my cheek.

She started digging in her purse. “I think I have something that might work,” she said.