Page 9 of American Beauty

“I keep noticing little things. Like, I got in my car earlier, and one of your favorite songs was playing on the radio. I just sat there for a second, staring at the display screen like an idiot.”

“Which song?”

“Guess.”

It can only be one of two genres. “Country or R&B?”

“Country.”

I tilt my head, considering. “Something by Chris Stapleton?”

She shakes her head. “Guess again.”

“Luke Combs?”

“Nope.” A mischievous smile plays at her mouth as she leans in slightly, like she’s letting me in on a secret. “I’ll give you a clue. We danced to it one night at your house. Out on the back patio—right after we finished dinner.”

Oh yeah. That one.

She tilts her head, watching me through the screen. “Don’t remember? Need to peek in my journal and see what I wrote about it?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “I remember, favorite. It was ‘Dance with You’ by Brett Young.”

Her expression softens. “You do remember.”

I meet her gaze, steady. “Of course I remember. How could I ever forget?”

She watches me for a moment, then shifts, curling deeper into her blankets. “I’ve been wearing your hoodie since I got home.”

A slow, heavy ache blooms in my chest. “You have?”

Her smile is small, almost vulnerable. “Yeah.”

She traces the fabric with slow, absent strokes and lifts it to her nose, closing her eyes for half a second as she breathes it in. “I sprayed it with your cologne before I left. It still smells like you.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “I like the idea of you pulling it on and still smelling me.”

Her breath catches slightly, her fingers tightening around the hoodie. “I don’t think I can bring myself to wash it.”

A silence falls between us, not heavy, but full.

I shift, forcing a smile, doing my best to stay steady for her. Because that’s what she needs. But underneath, the worry gnaws at me. As much as I believe in us, some small, hollow place inside me wonders what’s going to happen to our relationship. How long before the distance starts pulling at the seams we’ve barely stitched together?

The fear creeps up before I can stop it. The fear of distance. Of loneliness sneaking back in through cracks we worked so hard to seal shut.

And then, like she can hear the thought scraping through my chest, she looks up.

“Are we going to be okay?” she asks.

I meet her gaze without flinching. Steady. Certain.

“Of course we are.”

For the first time tonight, she smiles.Trulysmiles. “We haven’t talked about when we’ll see each other again.”

“Soon, babe.”

“Soon isn’t a date, Sebring.”

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