Page 67 of The Best Shot

She pointed her spoon at me.

“You’re a rock,” she said, completely straight-faced. “Solid. Immovable. Tough as a Texas drought.”

“Don’t.”

“You folded like string cheese, Yaz.”

I pulled the pillow off the armchair and threw it directly at her face.

She caught it one-handed without spilling a drop of cereal. The smirk didn’t move.

I picked up my bag and my keys.

“Shut up,” I said, and walked out.

Thirty minutes later, my hand was out the window, fingers spread against the warm air as the road unspooled ahead of us.

I saw the Quik Stop sign before Hale even signaled, and my fingers curled against the air. The place sat back from the road, two pumps out front, fluorescents buzzing under the awning even in daylight.

I’d started picking up my mother’s calls again, and she’d mentioned it the other day, casual as anything. Shaun was still working there. Doing what he could, she’d said, in the careful, polite voice she used now. Pointed enough to remind me what she thought I should be doing instead. Like she was leaving food out and hoping I’d come find it.

Hale put on his blinker.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. We could pay at the pump. It didn’t have to be a thing.

He pulled in and cut the engine.

I watched him in the side mirror. He took the nozzle, T-shirt pulling tight across his shoulders, started the pump, then ducked his head through the open window. “Snacks?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yaz.”

“I don’t need anything. Really.”

“Didn’t you say that last night, before you ate half my fries?”

“That was different,” I said.

“How?”

I rolled my eyes. “You offered.”

“And I’m offering now.” He held a twenty out.

I hesitated.

I could tell him. It would take thirty seconds. My brother works here. I’d rather not run into him.

Hale wouldn’t turn it into anything. He wasn’t built for drama.

I should’ve been able to tell him.

But I kept thinking about the way he looked at me, like I came without hidden corners.

I wasn’t ready for him to find one.

I took the twenty. “What do you want?”