Page 98 of Worth the Trip

I opened the door. “Y’all too invested.”

“Drive safe.”

“Love you too.”

The door shut behind me while they were still laughing.

By the time I hit the highway, two coffees sat in the console, and a box of pastries for the Crème & Chill staff occupied the passenger seat. I started the playlist I’d built the night before and immediately questioned whether arranging songs around casual comments Hershey had made throughout the week qualified as excessive preparation.

Probably.

Didn’t care.

She liked neo-soul. Old R&B. Some gospel. Had a strong opinion about one particular artist’s sophomore album that I thought bordered on revisionist history. I’d put the song she defended most aggressively third.

I wanted to see if she noticed.

Twenty minutes outside Self Ridge, I sent a voice text.

Twenty minutes away. Coffee secured.

Her answer came quickly.

You brought coffee too?

Diplomacy package.

Nyla says you’re doing too much.

Nyla still drinking hers?

Three dots appeared.

She said mind your business.

I laughed.

Drive safely, Landon. We’ll be waiting.

That we sounded good.

The woman who sent it sounded better.

At 1:48, I pulled into a space across from Crème & Chill.

The storefront was bright, busy, and easy to recognize.

Then Nolani stepped outside.

Yeah.

The building could wait.

She wore a pink apron over a cream dress, her curls partly pulled away from her face with enough left loose to cause a problem. The apron should’ve made her look wholesome.

It failed.

Her entire face changed when she saw me. No careful smile. No pretending she hadn’t been waiting. She came straight toward the SUV.