Page 42 of Between Us

Blake.

Turning in my seat, I watch as she makes her way over, unaware of my presence. Her long black hair is tied up in a messy bun—more strands falling out than not. She’s not wearing a tennis skirt, but the black leggings tucked into fuzzy socks, and herRocket Powercrewneck, is just as good. Better in fact because the top is so big it looks like it could even fit me, and that was my favorite show growing up.

“Hey, Storm Cloud,” I call from across the room, grabbing her attention. Now that she’s noticed me, I watch the pink color slowly creep up her neck. “I like your sweater.”

She glances down, uncertain, and gently shrugs. “It was one of mine and Grady’s favorites,” she says quietly.

A huge grin pulls across my cheeks. “Mine too.”

She just rolls her eyes and slips on her Vans. “Well, I’m glad to see I didn’t overdress.” She nods toward my hoodie and jeans. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, but I’ll let you pick the music.”

“Deal.” She quickly places a kiss on her mom’s cheek then leads us toward the door.

Chapter Twenty-One

Adrian

SlidingoutofmySUV, the gravel crunches below me and the cool air blows around me. It’s a little drier here since we’re further from the coast, but only about an hour and a half from Amada Beach.

Walking around the hood to her door, I give myself the same pep talk I’ve been trying to drill into my brain since I asked her to dinner. Since I made up my mind that I was going to bring her to this small hole in the wall, out in the middle of nowhere, and just hope she doesn’t think I’m planning to kidnap her or something crazy.

And considering I stopped at a rundown little diner in an almost ghost town, I know the picture it might be painting. Except this place is special to me.

When I stop outside of Blake’s door, she doesn’t look skeptical though. Just curious, like she knows I wouldn’t waste her time by driving her all the way out here.

I swing the door open and watch as she steps down. She’s taking in every detail of the area, from the three-quarters moon to the dirt parking lot to the colorful lights shining in from the small diner.

Our movements fall into step with each other, and after only a second of hesitation, I sling my arm around her shoulders and tuck her into me. The way she sways from unsure and doubtful to confident and at ease in a second, makes me want to get to know her better. It makes me want to find out what could make a naturally confident person like her feel as if she has to constantly question herself. It makes me want to spend the rest of my life making sure she never feels she has to again.

“Why here?” I look down at her, how small she looks against me, the way the moonlight illuminates her milky skin.

“It’s important to me,” I answer simply. She tilts her head in interest, not prying for more information yet.

The diner looks like it’s from the fifties, not in aGreaseway or something similar, but like it was actually built over half a century ago and hasn’t been renovated once. Some of it—the kitchen and systems—has been, just not everything. The wear and tear of the booths, and the scratches on the tables, are from years of patrons coming in and out daily, not from lack of care. I’ve seen firsthand how well loved SunRay’s is.

As we scoot into a booth, I tell her, “My parents are nurses, and travel nursing was something they’d always wanted to do. But my mom got pregnant with me when she was only starting her career.” I ruefully shrug, not actually feeling guilty about it.

I’m really close with both of my parents, and I know they feel fulfilled in their careers despite having a child sooner than they expected. It doesn’t mean that we don’t tease each other about theiraccident, also known as myself.

Tilting her head, she asks, “You moved around a lot?”

I nod. “For a while, yeah. It was mostly when I was younger. My mom’s ten years younger than my dad, so she wasreallyjust starting her career when she found out she was pregnant. Travel nursing had been one of her goals, and he helped her make sure she could have it all.”

Her lips softly tug up the more I tell her, so I decide to just continue on my long winded explanation of why this place is one of my favorites in the world.

“Usually, both of my parents would get a contract somewhere and we’d all go for the summer or a half of a school year. If not, my dad usually stayed in Bakersfield with me and my mom left for a few weeks.Butthere were a few times when it was too great of an opportunity, like the more competitive hospitals, and it didn’t work with my schedule. So, I stayed with my godmother.”

She never married and doesn’t have any kids of her own, so I’ve always been treated as her surrogate son. Her three sisters have children of their own, and I know she spoils the hell out of them too. ‘It’s her responsibility as the fun aunt,’ she’d insist with a wink.

And honestly, I loved my childhood. Of course, I missed my parents when they were gone, but Maria would always take me to visit them if they were gone longer than two weeks, and they never missed a holiday or a birthday. I never felt unloved, not for a second. “Her family owns this place. They opened it in 1958.”

When I get to the point, suddenly understanding her need to over explain out of nerves, a new light reaches her eyes and she sits up a little straighter, taking the space in with a new perspective. I sit back and glance out the window, letting her eyes trail along the walls of photos and knick-knacks, wondering how long it’ll take her to realize…

She turns in her seat to look at the wall behind her and does a double take of the framed picture. Of me. As a senior in high school.

Yup, my godmother’s mother put my senior photo up on the wall in her diner. It’s embarrassing, but she’s done it for each of her grandkids and I love the hell out of her.

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