Page 73 of After Midnight

For a moment, I glance around. And sure enough, there are people with their phones lifted toward us. I’m pretty sure that they do recognize him now and the sign has nothing to do with it.

“Sorry,” I say, starting to step away.

Seb looks confused for a moment, then notices the people and their phones.

“No, not because of that,” he says, shaking his head. He lowers his voice, his lips turning up again into a sideways smile. “Because you make me want to toss you onto that baggage claim and take you right here.”

I briefly picture us lying on the baggage claim conveyor belt, Seb on top of me as it goes around and around. The image is so silly that I laugh, and realizing he’s not uncomfortable with me kissing him in public makes my muscles soften.

“Sounds like we’d get dizzy,” I say, stooping to pick up my carry-on.

Seb grabs his sign, then slings an arm comfortably across my shoulders. “I mean, I’d do it, if you were into that sort of thing,” he says.

“I think we can find a better place than this.”

I look up at him, and the smile he gives me makes my stomach warm.

Fuck, I’ve missed him.

“Which suitcase is yours?” he asks.

I point it out when it comes around, and Seb grabs it, lifting it off the conveyor belt like it weighs nothing at all. His biceps really do come in handy. Then he gestures toward the parking area and says, “Your carriage awaits.”

The carriage is his charcoal-gray Ford Bronco Raptor, and I’m pleasantly surprised by how clean it is. The floorboards have all been vacuumed, and the interior looks a little glossy, like he had it detailed recently.

But also, it smells weirdly like . . .

I look over at him from my spot in the passenger’s seat. “Why does it smell like burritos in here?”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Seb reaches into the back seat, and there’s the crinkle of paper as he grabs a food bag and hefts it into his lap. “I figured you might be hungry, so I grabbed takeout from my favorite Tex-Mex place.”

As he reaches into the bag, my heart swells.

Not for the first time, I wonder how the hell this guy was single before he met me.

He puts a heavy foil-wrapped burrito into my hands, and it’s still warm.

While looking down at it, I straight up ask him, “Why were you single when we met?”

His brown eyes widen. “What?”

I gesture to the burrito, then the glitter sign sitting in the back seat. “You’re . . . kind of perfect. Why didn’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Oh.” He gets a shy smile and looks away from me to unwrap his own burrito. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he says, “I can be a bit . . . much, I think. I’m not good at playing it cool. I get attached, and I think I scare women off.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully for a while, still not looking at me. After swallowing, he adds, “And I’ve had some shitty relationships too. I like taking care of people, and I’ve been taken advantage of before.” Then he looks over at me. “What about you?”

My eyebrows rise. “Why was I single?”

He nods once, mouth occupied with another bite of his burrito.

Slowly, I unwrap the foil, and a puff of steam rises up to meet me.

“All the guys I’d been with felt . . . temporary.” I think of all the late nights in hotel rooms, names and faces that meant so little to me at the time, that were so easy to walk away from when the sun came up. But after I slept with Seb and the sun rose the next day, I realized I didn’t want him to go anywhere. And looking at him now, I still don’t.

“What about this?” he asks. His voice is softer now. “Does this feel temporary?”

He looks so sincere, his brown eyes focused on me, a small furrow in his brow.

And I tell him the truth. “I hope not.”