Page 21 of No Save Point

“No,” I say quickly, too quickly. “It’s just… different.”

Cassie nods like she already knew I’d say that. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not gonna be in your way much longer.”

That makes me sit up, my stomach twisting. “What?”

She shrugs, reaching for her phone again. “Told you, I’m having my friend pick me up at the diner if we don’t make it back here in time.”

The floor drops out from under me. Not tomorrow, not whenever I decided I was comfortable enough to be alone with Carter. Tonight. I swallow hard, my fingers tangling together in my lap. “Oh.”

Cassie arches a brow. “Oh?”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I mean, that’s fine. Cool, makes sense.”

She smirks like she can see right through me. “Uh-huh,” she says, standing up, stretching. “If you need a pep talk before I go, now’s your chance.”

I huff. “I don’t need a pep talk.”

Cassie grins. “You need several.”

I groan, and she cackles as she disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the anxiety creeps back in, curling hot and restless in my chest. It’s about to be just me and Carter.

There’s a knock at the door. A short, solid three taps, nothing rushed, nothing hesitant. But it still jolts me like a gunshot, my pulse skipping into a rhythm I can’t control, my entire body going stiff as I stare at the door like it’s a live grenade.

Cassie pops her head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth, eyebrows raised. “That him?” she mumbles around the foam.

I blink. Swallow. Nod.

She grins. “Showtime.”

I don’t dignify that with a response, because I’m too busy pulling in a steadying breath, forcing my legs to move, forcing myself toward the door like this is just any other night, like I haven’t just spent the last half hour mentally short-circuiting over the fact that Cassie is leaving me here alone with Carter. I hesitate for half a second, fixing my expression, shaking out my hands, trying to make my heartbeat chill the hell out.

Then I pull the door open. Carter. Standing in the dim glow of the porch light, hands shoved into his pockets, hair a little messier than before, like he ran his fingers through it a few times on the way over. He’s dressed casually, black T-shirt, jeans, sneakers but somehow it feels like he put more effort into this than he wants me to notice.

The worst part is the second he looks at me, really looks at me, brown eyes dragging over my face like he’s taking me in all over again, I forget how to breathe.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a second, we just stand there, neither of us speaking, neither of us knowing what the hell to do with this strange, slow-burn energy curling tight between us. Then he clears his throat, breaking the silence first. “You ready?”

No. Absolutely not. But I nod anyway.

The diner Carter takes us to is exactly what I should have expected, small, a little outdated, but warm and familiar in a way that makes me feel like I’ve been here before. The neon sign flickers just enough to make the place feel nostalgic rather than run-down, and inside, the scent of fresh coffee and fried food wraps around me like a hug.

Carter leads the way toward a booth near the window, his presence steady, too easy to follow. I don’t realize how tightly I’ve been gripping my bag until I finally slide into the seat across from him, exhaling slowly, trying to get my heart rate back to normal. It’s fine, this is totally fine.

When I glance up, Carter is watching me. His elbow is propped against the table, fingers drumming lightly against the worn laminate surface, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, something warm but searching. Like he’s trying to figure me out in real time.

I shift under the weight of it, reaching for the menu just to have something to do with my hands. “So, what’s the go-to here?”

Carter smirks, but I don’t miss the way his fingers flex, like he wasn’t expecting the question. “Depends. If you want greasy and regretful, the burgers are solid. If you want a local classic, the pie is kind of a thing here.”

I nod, flipping through the options, pretending not to notice the way his eyes are drawn to my hands when I move. The waitress swings by a moment later, greeting Carter like she knows him, but not well enough to make small talk, just enough familiarity to confirm that this is his place, his town, his world.

I try not to think about that too hard. We order burgers, because I’m hungry and reckless, and Carter didn’t even have to ask how I take my fries, extra crispy, obviously.

And for a while, the conversation is easy. We talk about the town, about how he grew up here, about how weird it is seeing someone from a screen sitting across from you in real life.

Even though the nerves haven’t left me completely, there’s something calming about sitting here with him, about finally having space to just talk, just exist, without feeling like we’re performing for each other. I reach for my drink at the same time Carter reaches for the salt shaker. His hand brushes against mine. It’s nothing, barely a touch. But my skin goes hot immediately, static jumping between us, a tiny spark that zips straight up my arm and lands hard in my chest.

We both freeze. For just a second. For just long enough to register it, feel it, process it.

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