Page 8 of No Save Point

She gives me a look. “I thought this was, like, an actual thing with Carter?”

“It is.” I chew my lip. “I just—I’ll feel better if you’re there.”

Cassie sighs, dramatically flopping backward onto my bed. “I so dislike you.”

I grin. “So you’ll come?”

She groans into my pillow. “Yes.”

Success.

Three hours later and more than enough energy drinks than I can count. I grip the wheel a little too tight as we hit the open road, my playlist shuffling through a mix of trap and reverb remixes. Cassie’s in the passenger seat, fully stretched out, sipping an iced coffee like she isn’t about to witness my potential downfall.

“You know,” she says, scrolling through her phone, “if this goes well, you might have to admit I was right.”

“Right about what?”

She smiles. “About Carter, how he’s probably already in love with you.”

I make a face. “Cass.”

“I mean it! The man’s been blowing up your phone like he’s your personal tour guide.”

She’s not wrong. Carter’s been rapid-firing me messages all morning, random ideas for where he might take me. Nothing’s planned, but that’s Carter. He doesn’t need a schedule to be excited.

He just… wants me there. Wants to share his space with me. The way that makes my stomach twist, I’m trying really hard to play it cool as I change lanes, but it’s not working.

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Cassie hums, like she’s not trying to stir up every nerve in my body. “And what if he is everything you think he is?”

I don’t answer, because honestly that’s the scariest part.

The silence stretches while the road becomes a blur and eventually the town sign comes up faster than I’m ready for.

Cassie whistles low as we slow to a stop at the intersection, eyeing the row of shops, old brick buildings, and the tiny café with a chalkboard sign out front. “Damn. This place is cute as hell.”

It shouldn’t make my chest feel tight, but it does. I’m about to find out if all those late nights behind a screen still feel like this when it’s face to face.

The main street looks like something out of a mood board labeled ‘small-town aesthetic.’ People actually walking places instead of aggressively speed-walking through crowds with earbuds in. I make a face at my own thoughts and turn down a quieter side street, scanning for our Airbnb.

Cassie’s scrolling through the listing. “Okay, so, this place is ‘minimalist and cozy’ which is just code for small as hell, but not murdery.’”

“That’s the best we can ask for at this price.”

We turn onto a tree-lined street, and there it is. A single-story rental tucked between two larger homes, with a chipped picket fence and an overgrown garden out front.

Cassie squints at it. “Haven.”

“Cassie.”

“This looks like the start of a horror movie.”

I snort and throw the car into park. “You picked it.”

She sighs dramatically. “I know. I was trying to manifest rustic charm.”

“Manifest harder.”

---