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“Dunno what you’re complainin’ about. You’re the morning person here.”

A.J. rubbed his ass, his eyes narrowed into a mock scowl. “Even if I was a morning person, five thirty isn’t the morning, it's hell.”

“Yeah?” Bren asked as the sand changed to grass beneath their feet. “So what time should I expect breakfast in bed once we’ve got our own place, then?”

A.J. didn’t want to let the thrill of the idea show on his face. “I wouldn’t expect me to make you any food if you go into it with that attitude.”

“How about whoever’s up first takes care of breakfast?”

A.J. snorted. “That’s just more words for me acting like a fifties housewife for you.”

“Give me some credit, Robolad,” Bren said, brushing the back of his hand against A.J.’s thigh. “Live-in himbo boyfriend, not wife.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m the himbo in this relationship,” A.J. said, lifting the hem of Bren’s shirt to show off his abs. Bren flexed them. “See?”

“My bad,” Bren said and tugged his shirt back down. “Guess if you want me to lose ’em you’re gonna have to start cookin’ for me.”

“Is there a chance you’re hungry and not sleepy? Right now, I mean.”

“Nah, I’m proper fuckin’ knackered,” Bren said stepping into him so their hips bumped. “But I wouldn’t say no to bacon and eggs in a couple of hours, like.”

A.J. laughed and returned the hip check with interest.

But he didn’t say no.

57

The Tannoy chimed and a polite female voice reminded the travelers of Regina International Airport not to leave their bags unattended at any time, and Arlo’s mam fussed with the straps of her son’s overstuffed bookbag.

Holly was back in Moose Jaw with Nat, no doubt working on the extra special Christmas card she’d promised to bring when the family came to visit in December. She took the news that he and Arlo were leaving today better than he thought she would. But then again, she’d known for weeks and, like her brother, he got the impression that a lot went on in her head once she got hold of a new piece of news.

“Did you put your phone charger in your carry-on?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you’ve got your passport?”

“It’s right there.”

“And what about your—”

Arlo’s head flopped forwards and he groaned as a group of people speaking French headed up the escalator beside them. The airport was small enough that they didn’t have far to go to their gate, but they did need to get going eventually if they ever wanted to make it out of Regina.

Regina. The city whose name rhymed with fun, or so Arlo insisted—maybe it was a good thing Bren was getting him out of Canada in the end.

“Mom, I’ve done this before.”

“I know, I just—” Arlo’s da put his hand on her shoulder and, smiling, she wiped her eyes. “Promise you’ll call when you land in Toronto?”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Walker. I'll keep him on task,” Bren said, surprised that Arlo didn’t slap him on principle.

He slipped his hand into Arlo’s when he looked at his parents, and there was a tremor in his laughter.

“We should get going.”

A tingle traveled up Bren’s spine.

We.