Page 27 of Just One Moment

Istare at his lips as the thought passes through my mind.Theylook soft, not too full, and he keeps his beard well-trimmed.Suddenly,I’mimagining the tickle of his facial hair against my skin.Thoselips are moving now and shit, did he say something?

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”Myeyes dart up to find him watching me closely with a slight smirk.

“Isaid,IthinkI’dfeel more comfortable if you did it.I’llbe on rodent watch.”Heplaces a hand on the small of my back and gently guides me toward the side door.

“Fine,”Imutter. “Isuppose asking you to pick out my underwear for the next week is too soon, huh?”Itease, makingGraham’scheeks flash red.I’mpretty sure he’d go up in flames ifItold himIdidn’t wear underwear a lot of the time.Thickgirl habits.Iusually settle on a pair of shorts under my dresses or go commando like today.

Thegolden hour light makes the orange exterior of the van pop and stand out against the green grass.Thislighting does wonders onGraham, too, painting him in a warm glow.Thecool breeze makes the longer strands on top of his head shiftslightly, the color reminding me of the wheat fieldsI’dpass through whenIlived inKansas.

“Weneed a signal.”Istand taller as we approach the sliding door, hoping the rats won’t run up my legs ifIlook confident.Canthey smell fear?

“Asignal?”

“Yeah.Ifyou see one, you need to warn me.Maybeyou cancaw cawlike an eagle, and it will scare them off.”

Heshakes his head in amusement and gestures to the door, waiting for me to unlock it. “Idon’t think eagles caw, butI’llkeep watch.You’resafe.”

Trustinghim,Ipull my keys from the tote bag slung over my shoulder and slide the door open once it’s unlocked.Weboth lean forward, listening for any signs of the critters.We’remet with silence, butIstill don’t budge.Grahamgets the hint and steps in front of me, opening the door farther and climbing inside.Thevan shifts with his weight andIhave to hold back my giggle when he faces me, his huge frame folded to fit into my small home.

Hiseyes roam over the space, taking in the bright blue comforter, multicolored tapestry rug that hides the awful green vinyl flooring, and the pocket-sized kitchen behind the front seats.I’mgoing to miss it.

“Hearanything?”Iask.

Hestands still for a second, listening closely then shakes his head. “Nope.”Hesteps back out and groans as he stretches. “Thisthing is impressive, but not really made for people above five feet.”

“Hey!I’mfive three.”

“Shortcake.”TheglareIthrow at him doesn’t have the intended effect, butIlike the playfulness that flashes in his gaze. “Howdid you even come across something like this?”

“Pureluck.Iwas inOregonand had been saving up for a car.OneeveningIwas walking back from work, and it wasoutside a house with a for sale sign.Idid some haggling, and the guy either pitied me or he just really wanted to get rid of it.Itwas only a week later thatIlooked up the going price of this model and almost fell off my chair.”

“Areyou fromOregon?”

Myhand freezes above the door handle.

It’sa normal question between friends.JoknowsI’vemoved around a lot,I’vetold her about all the amazing places and statesI’vevisited, just not the reason whyIleftSanDiego.Questionslike this always make me uneasy becauseIhate revealing too much about my lifebeforeIleft.

“Umm, no,SanDiego,”Ioffer curtly and climb into the van.

Mybrusque response doesn’t deter him. “Nice.Seemsyou’ve traded one corner of the country for another.Doyou visit home often?”

Anothersimple question.Iswallow the knot in my throat as discomfort churns in my stomach.Maybeit’s becauseI’mtired from last night’s events, because suddenlyI’mback in that small trailer.Thefresh air is replaced with stale cigarette smoke.Chirpingof birds switched to drunken slurs.Alight touch on my arm has me flinching and stumbling backward, only to be caught by a strong pair of arms.

“Hey, hey.You’reas white as a sheet.Isit your head?Doyou need to sit down?”Grahamasks, worry etched into his face.I’mpanting and my skin feels clammy, butI’mno longer drowning in the grim memory asIcling to his arm.

“Ihaven’t eaten much today.”Thelie is easier than the miserable truth of my life.

It’sclear he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t ask any more questions about my past, either, andIdon’t know why that makes me sad.Sharingstories about my travels is one of my favorite things to do.Totell people about the first timeIsaw the hot springs inWyoming, or whenItried horseback riding inMontana.

Justnot any stories fromSanDiego.

Ihurriedly pack my small suitcase with enough clothes to last me a week, whileGrahamchecks the engine compartment to see if my new tenants are still there.Fromthe dire look on his face, they are.Ihop down in front of him, slide the door shut, and lock up.

“Guessingthis is yours.”Heholds out my phone between us andItake it from him with a quick thanks. “Youmight need to do something about the rats before the van goes to the shop.”

“Ugh.Likewhat?”

“Ican call pest control.”

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