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“What?”

“How much younger I am than you. Eleven years.”

I think about it, unsure if this is a trick question. “It’s not something I usually go for, but I think it can work. It’s not decades.”

She doesn’t answer, but she has a little smile on her face as she goes back to her phone. The cashier calls out our order number, and I retrieve the bags, coming back to unpack everything across the table. She sets her phone aside and pops the top off the burger box.

“Oh, God, that looks good,” she breathes.

I love how excited she always is for her food. I’m trying to be more like that, after years of shoving food in my mouth so I can get on to the next thing.

That’s no fucking way to live.

She takes the top off the bun and puts extra ketchup on it. “I used to pick the pickles off and eat them hot,” she says. “It was my PMS craving. That, and shooting ketchup packets.”

“What now?”

She laughs, shaking her head. I have to wait for her to chew and swallow her first bite.

“I get a lot of weird PMS cravings. There was a time when it was hot ketchup packets from McDonalds.”

“Like…just the packet?”

She nods. “Yep. I’d rip the top off and shotgun that motherfucker.”

I laugh out loud, and she laughs along with me. We both sober, and our eyes meet. She tucks her hands into her lap and shifts. I can tell she wants to say something.

“You alright?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m really alright. I’m….”

“What? You can say it.” I set my food down and reach for her hand. She lets me take it, squeezing lightly.

“I’m really happy,” she says. “This is fun.”

If I’d met her months ago, I’d break down right now and tell her I think I have real feelings for her. Or something even more crazy…like she’s the first person who has made me happy in years. But it’s only been a few weeks, and I know how hesitant she is because of my work, so I swallow all those words.

“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SABRINA

We don’t find an outdoor movie theater, but that’s alright. I knew it was a long shot. I am hoping, however, that we might have a chance at a regular one in Nashville before he sends me home. Or anything, honestly. I’d be happy sitting in a hotel room with a movie on an iPad, so long as we’re together.

We spend the night in a chain hotel in Texas, a little east of Dallas. It’s busy here, and he asks if I want to go out, but I’m feeling homesick for the first time since we left Wyoming. Either that, or it’s really sinking in that we’ll be in Nashville soon, and everything has to end. Instead of going out, I sit cross-legged on the bed while he stands out in the hall and answers a work call. We ordered food a half hour ago, and it’s almost here. I keep telling myself eating will fill the pit forming in my stomach.

I really like him.

But I’m also not willing to get too involved in his world. It seems like it’s done nothing but make him miserable.

Is he actually miserable?

I’m pulled from my thoughts by a sharp knock at the door. Scrambling, I retrieve our food and thank the delivery man. He disappears, and I scan the empty hall just as he comes around the corner, still on the phone.

I tilt my head, watching him. It’s kind of sexy when he’s in work mode. He sees me and lifts his hand in a brief wave.

Setting the bag down, I lift my shirt, just to the middle of my waist.