Page 62 of Smoke Signals

I grab our bags and take one last look around the apartment. The knock comes a second later, solid and familiar. When I open the door, cold air slips inside along with him. He looks relaxed, wearing jeans and a hoodie, hair pushed back like he ran a hand through it too many times on the drive.

“Hey, baby,” he says, stepping close enough that his hand finds my waist before I even think about it. He leans in and kisses me slowly, as if he’s been waiting all day to do exactly that.

The drive and nerves all fade for a second when his mouth moves against mine.

When we pull back his smile lingers, soft around the edges, and then his eyes slide past me to Alaska.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he adds.

Alaska launches forward with both arms raised, pure confidence, and he catches her easily, lifting her against his chest like it’s the most automatic thing in the world.

“Ready for an adventure?” he asks.

She nods hard.

I lock the door behind us, suddenly aware of how normal this feels, like we’ve done it a hundred times already.

The drive starts loud and busy, Chicago traffic pressing in from every side. Horns, brake lights, buildings stacked close enough to block the sky. Stellan drives one handed, relaxed, music low enough that conversation fills the space instead.

Once we hit the tollway, everything stretches out. Lanes open, buildings thin, and the skyline fades behind us until it’s just a memory in the rearview mirror.

Alaska hums softly in the backseat, kicking her feet while she watches trucks pass.

We drive in comfortable silence for a while before a massive blue building appears ahead.

“Is that an Ikea?” I squeal like a teenager.

“It is,” Stellan says, as if it’s no big deal.

I sit up straighter. “It’s bigger than I thought.”

“You’ve never been?”

I shake my head. “I’ve heard the meatballs are amazing though.”

He laughs. “They are. Dangerous place though. You go in for a lamp and leave questioning your entire life.”

“I already question my entire life,” I mutter.

“That means you’ll fit right in.”

The highway gives way slowly to smaller roads, traffic thinning until storefronts replace exits. The town our exit leads us through isn’t tiny, but it’s not a large town either. Brick buildings line State Street that look older than anything back home, storefront windows decorated with handmade signs, newer cafés tucked between places that have clearly been there for decades. There’s a bakery with fogged glass, a hardware store with faded lettering, an ice cream shop with a neon sign buzzing faintly even in daylight.

Fast food chains sit farther down the road, a Walmart rising beyond them, proof the modern world still exists here. Houses spread out along quiet streets, close enough to feel neighborly but far enough apart that yards actually matter.

I look out the window longer than I mean to.

“I could see myself living here,” I say, not realizing I said it out loud.

Stellan glances at me, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“It’s… calm,” I admit. “Cute.”

He nods toward the road ahead. “I loved coming out this way when I was younger. Friends lived around here. Rockford’s bigger, busier, but this always felt easier.”

“You miss it?”

“Sometimes.”