Page 20 of Big, Burly Bodyguard

We drive in companionable silence for a few miles after that. Not awkward. Comfortable. Like the road has smoothed out just for us.

“I think,” I say finally, “that if anyone ever needed a protector, it’s probably someone learning how to live a normal life. Especially when they don’t know how to use a basic shower.”

He lets out a low huff of a laugh.

I look down at my ridiculous shoes again and smile.

Maybe this bucket list thing is already working.

chapter

nine

Mitchell

White Sands looks more like the landscape from a Star Wars movie than anything in the United States.

Miles of snowy white dunes roll out in every direction, smooth and blinding. The sky is impossibly blue, the kind of color you only get far from cities. But today, that color reminds me of Evie’s eyes. So, so blue.

She steps out of the truck and just… stops.

“Oh, wow,” she breathes.

She turns slowly, taking it all in, eyes wide, lips parted, her pink flamingo flip-flops already dusted white.

“You didn’t tell me it would look like this,” she says.

“I figured it’d be better as a surprise.”

She looks at me then, smiling like I gave her something precious. “You were right. This unbelievable. Otherworldly. ”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and for a split second, I think it might be Mike.

It’s not.

I slide it away and refocus on her, telling myself I’ll try again later.

We start toward the dunes, her steps confident for about ten seconds.

Then the sand gives way beneath her feet.

She yelps, windmilling her arms as one flip-flop sinks halfway into the dune. I’m on her instantly, hand closing around hers.

“Whoa, I got you.”

Her fingers curl into my palm like they were waiting for it.

She laughs, breathless. “This is harder than it looks.”

“That’s the sand,” I say. “Has a mind of its own.”

She tries again, lifting her foot exaggeratedly, only for it to slide back down. “I think my shoes are betraying me.”

I glance down at the flamingos. “They look good against the sand, but obviously would work better with packed sand. They’re not exactly dune-approved.”

She tilts her head, feigning seriousness. “Perhaps. But now they’re symbolic.”

“Of what?”