Page 21 of Fight

Callahan

What are you doing?

Reading.

I snap a photo of the cover of my book and send it to him along with my response.

Callahan

Where at? I stopped by your room.

I peer out the window, but with the interior lights on, only my reflection stares back at me.

I’m in the rig.

Callahan

Want company? I’ve got snacks.

My stomach flips. Almost all our interactions have been through text. Any in-person contact has been in public, neverone-on-one. Hidden away in the back of an ambulance while everyone else is inside the dormitory might as well be a remote cabin in the woods, though I’d prefer that scenario over this one. Remote cabins are romantic. Ambulances are… clinical.

Sure.

Callahan

Be down in a couple minutes.

Exhaling, I place the gas station receipt bookmark between the pages and run my fingers over the thin paper. This receipt represents so much. It was the decision to leave the place I once called home, and even when I stopped for gas, I kept going. The date has faded, and eventually, the print will vanish, along with any evidence of who I used to be. Just another piece of paper. Just another woman.

I’m not her anymore—maybe I never was. The present has always been my destiny. I feel it in my core.

A knock on the side door drags me from my thoughts. I straighten in the gurney I’ve been using as a reading chair and run my fingers through my hair and over my shirt, fixing the hem. The nerves are different, more jittery than skittish. There’s an underlying buzz of anticipation burning through my veins.

I open the door, and he stands there holding a blanket and a brown paper grocery bag. I back up, giving him room to enter. He climbs into the back and keeps his head ducked from hitting the ceiling. His hair is wet like he took a shower, or maybe it's from the rain. He sets the bag on the bench along the side wall and shuts the door behind him. Now that we’re in close quarters, I’m enveloped in the scent of cedar and soap.

“Hi.”

He takes a seat on the bench and looks around, appraising the ambulance. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thank you.” I chuckle and shrug. “I like the privacy.”

His eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “Me too.”

It’s hard not to hear innuendo in his words. His gruff voice coaxes more butterflies to take flight, so I avert my gaze as a blush rises to my cheeks.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, unzipping my pack.

“Oh, no, this is my treat.” He shakes open the blanket and dumps out the bag of snacks on top. “I went all out.”

“I can see that. Those bags of caramel corn look a little familiar.”

He laughs. “Fair point. But I brought a picnic blanket. Partial credit?”

“Where did you find the blanket?”

He turns over the corner, and it’s embroidered with CAMP BLUE SKY. “Stole it from the gift shop.”

“Liesandsteals? It’s so hard to find a guy that does both! Lucky me.”

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