Page 56 of Heart So Hollow

Bowen stops as we reach the corner of the lot, “Fine,” he turns to me, “then just drive yours.”

“Did you forget you drove here?” I snicker.

Bowen tosses something at me and I flinch as I catch it against my chest. It’s a set of keys.

“I told you I don’t want to drive your truck,” I say, holding the keys back out to him.

Bowen lowers his voice, “Why don’t you check out those keys?”

When I finally look at them, I realize it’s my pink carabiner with my condo keys, my bike rack key, and my key ring cards for the grocery store and library. But something is missing...

Instead of the car key for my old Impreza, there’s a Chevy key fob in its place. I look up at Bowen in utter confusion. He bows his head and motions over my shoulder. When I turn around, I come face to face with the back of a bright white Tahoe with a bike rack—my bike rack—affixed to the hitch. I look at Bowen, back at the Tahoe, and then back at Bowen again.

He stares back at me with a half-smile, “Your birthday’s coming up, I figured this would be a good time to surprise you.”

My mind is racing and I have no idea what to think.

“What?” I finally shriek, my mouth hanging open while cheers and laughter erupt behind me. “You bought me a car?”

He nods, his Cheshire Cat grin spreading across his face.

“Happy birthday!” Hildy cackles over my shoulder.

I whip around to her, still in shock, “Did you know?”

“Of course, I did,” she rolls her eyes, “who do you think drove it here?”

I remain in the middle of the parking lot, dumbstruck as both Hildy and Leona embrace me on both sides, squeezing me between them. After finally composing myself, I turn and jump into Bowen’s arms, knocking him backward.

“I love you, baby girl,” he presses his cheek to the side of my head, speaking into my ear, “now you don’t even have to take your bike off the rack if you don’t want to.”

I laugh to myself, impressed that he would even remember such an insignificant complaint about limited backseat and cargo room. One thing is for sure, I definitely never would’ve anticipated this. The Tahoe isn’t as big as his F250, but it’s still big. Not a barge, but maybe just a shrimp boat.

Over Bowen’s shoulder, I steal a glance at Hannah, and our eyes meet for a split second.

To anyone else, it’s a casual exchange, regarding the people standing around me. But the eyes betray emotion. And while I’m filled with exhilaration, the look of forced happiness on her face is overwhelming. The lack of glimmer and smile lines in her expression tells the real story. But a second later, it doesn’t matter. Once I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my brand-new SUV, I forget all about everything else. Except one thing.

“Bowen,” I turn the key fob over in my hands, “do you still want me to live with you?”

He reaches over from the passenger seat and slowly plucks the carabiner from my hands.

He flips through the keys and lifts a silver one with a hexagonal head between his thumb and index finger, “You already do.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Brett

One Year Ago

I’ve never been good at packing. I waver between a capsule wardrobe that can fit in a weekender and a full-size suitcase filled with 30 pairs of underwear and a pair of cowboy boots, just in case. This time is no different.

I commit to a carry-on, which is more than enough space for a four-day trip to Toronto. Except that right now, it looks like my red suitcase is vomiting the contents of my dresser drawers across the bed. Waylon lays sprawled across the grey carpet, in the middle of the room, snoring. He’s adorable, but no help. I turn back to the bed, realizing that, in addition the packing, I should’ve gone through my clothes after the move and donated about a third of them. So, that’s what I do on a Sunday afternoon, the day before Bowen and I are supposed to fly to Toronto to spend Christmas with my sister, Jo, and my brother-in-law, Omar. Instead of packing, I go through all my clothes and decide what to donate and what to pack into totes to store until summer.

I should’ve done this when I moved in. The market was still hot when my condo sold a month ago and even though I hadn’t lived there that long, it still sold for over asking price. I’m still riding that high, ecstatic to put some money in the bank and not have to turn around and throw it on another down payment. When it was all said and done, I filled the entire bed of Bowen’s truck with boxes of books and he built two brand new bookshelves to hold the ones that wouldn’t fit on his existing shelves.

Once my warm-weather clothes are packed up, I begin carting them down to the lower level of the house. Currently, it’s a sparse second living room, lined with floor to ceiling windows and a sliding glass door leading out back. There’s an extra bedroom that serves as an extra storage space filled with shelving, boxes, and random furniture that doesn’t go anywhere else. The totes full of warm weather clothes will go here, too.

I find a space next to a metal shelving unit and sit the tote down next to it. Bowen doesn’t do clutter, which is fortunate because neither do I. Maybe that’s why I decided to move in with him. He’s organized. Very…organized.

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