Page 17 of After the Snap

“Thank you for trusting me enough to say yes.”

I smile, unable to find words that feel big enough for the moment as he takes a step back.

“Just follow me, and if you change your mind…go home. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” I respond with a smile before he turns toward a pickup truck a few feet away while I make my way to my car, glancing back just once to make sure I’ve started walking.

Chapter Five

Calliope

His truck is already easing toward the exit when I pull out of the parking spot. I fall in behind him, leaving enough space that his taillights become something to follow instead of something to chase. At the intersection outside my apartment complex, my hands tighten around the steering wheel.

A left turn will take me home to the email I still haven’t deleted because some irrational part of me keeps believing the score will change if I check it one more time. Home means climbing into bed alone with every thought I’ve spent the last several hours escaping.

Straight keeps me behind his truck, heading toward a decision that should probably scare me more than it does. I click my blinker, signaling I’m going to turn left, but I click it off just as quickly. All evening, he’s trusted me to make my own choices. Maybe it’s time I do the same. I keep driving straight, my eyes never leaving the red glow of his taillights ahead.

His truck remains several car lengths ahead of me as the familiar streets give way to a neighborhood, I’ve never had a reason to enter. He slows before turning into a driveway near the end of the street. I pull in behind him and shut off the engine as his truck door opens.

His expression softens as I grab my bag and climb out of my car. “I was a little worried you were changing your mind a few miles back there.”

“It was touch and go there for a minute.”

He chuckles softly and turns toward the house. I fall into step beside him. The porch light flickers on as he unlocks the front door.

“Watch the step,” he says, pushing the door open before moving aside so I can walk in first.

He holds the door open while I step inside, then reaches for the light without closing the space between us. The lights reveal a comfortable living room that looks lived-in without feeling cluttered. A folded blanket rests over one end of the couch, and a pair of shoes sits near the wall. Nothing feels arranged for company.

“You can leave your purse wherever,” he says, heading toward an open doorway on the other side of the room. I follow, setting my purse down without moving my phone from the outside pocket.

It looks like there is a kitchen connected to the living room by a wide archway, but a second hallway extends beyond it toward the darker part of the house.

“This way,” he says, angling his body toward the kitchen before I can take another step.

He doesn’t block the hallway or tell me I can’t go back there. He only gives me another direction to follow.

I glance between him and the darkness behind his shoulder. “Is there something back there I’d be worried about?”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. A collection of antique dolls. A wall of taxidermy. Your wife.”

The first two possibilities earn nothing more than mild amusement, but the last one changes his expression before he can prevent it. “No wife.”

His answer comes quickly enough that I nod and move past him, ready to let the joke end there, but he keeps talking.

“I almost had one once.”

I turn around, and he’s leaning against the doorframe. His gaze lingers somewhere beyond me, and I recognize the moment for what it is before either of us says anything else. He could’ve ended the conversation there.

“You were engaged?”

“Yeah.” His thumb moves once against the wood beneath his hand. “We didn’t make it to the wedding.”

There are a dozen questions inside that sentence, but none of them belong to me simply because he placed them between us.

“I’m sorry.”