Page 88 of The Version You Hide

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be working tonight.” I call back as I open the door.

Dylan greets me with a coffee in hand. “Morning,” he says. “I got coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee.”

“No. But you do. There’s mineral water in the car for me.”

“Thanks,” I say, wrapping my hands around the cup, ignoring the way my heart beats out of rhythm when his fingers graze mine. The air is humid when I step outside, the atmosphere charged with the static of the impending storm. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere awesome,” he replies, ushering me to the front seat of the car. “You’ll love it.”

“I doubt that,” I grumble.

He ignores my complaint as he rounds the car to the driver’s door. The first thing I notice is that the window winder is fixed in place. “You repaired the winder?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he answers. “That thing ain’t going nowhere. I used the strongest superglue they had at Bill’s Hardware.”

I lean forward and attempt to wind it down. Just like the first time, it snaps off in my hand. “Uh oh.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dylan says, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. “I’ll be having a stern word with Bill about this. And I need to find some better repair videos on YouTube.”

Despite my sombre mood, one side of my mouth twists upward in a smile.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” he asks.

I’m unable to contain a small laugh. “You have to admit, it’s kind of funny.”

“Well, hell.” He snickers. “If it’s going to make you smile, you can break the other ones too.”

I grin, looking down at my lap. “How far do we have to travel to meet these friends of yours this time?”

“Just over an hour. But there’s a pit stop about halfway where we can get some food.”

“Thank God,” I groan. “I’m starving.”

Dylan glances over at me as we pull out onto the main road. “You get much sleep last night?”

“Is that your way of saying I look like shit?”

“You’re always gorgeous, Kenz,” he says, his eyes softening as they catch mine.

“I guess I am pretty tired,” I say, ignoring his compliment.

I know he must want to ask me what happened yesterday at the studio with Grace, and I respect him for not pushing it.

“Have a nap. I can wake you when we get to the diner.”

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I had struggled to get to sleep last night, my head a whirlwind of thoughts. I’d finally drifted off around three this morning. “Okay.”

I ball my hoodie up, shoving it against the passenger door to use as a pillow. Soon after, the monotonous hum of the engine has me falling into unconsciousness.

There are fingers in my hair, combing strands away from my face. My muscles clench, my first instinct to panic, but as my eyes flutter open, the little bobble-headed dog on the dashboard reminds me that I’m in Dylan’s car.

And Dylan is safe.

That’s what he tells me at least.

“We’re here, Kenz,” I hear him say. “Come on. I’m gonna buy you breakfast.”

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