Page 27 of Deal Breaker
She glances at me. “What about you? You ever think about leaving?”
“No.” I sip my drink. “Cove was never just a business to me. It was the one thing I could build and keep. The one thing I could control.”
Landyn nods slowly. “That’s how I felt about leaving.”
We look at each other again, something deeper tugging beneath the surface. This time, neither of us looks away.
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” she asks finally. “That you’re not chasing me?”
I study her, the way her mouth tightens at the corners. Like she’s bracing for something.
“I meant,” I say carefully, “that I don’t want to chase someone who’s already running.”
She leans back, crossing her arms. “Maybe I’m not running.”
My chest tightens. “I hope not, June.”
Her breath hitches. Just slightly. But enough.
Before either of us can respond, Buzz shouts, “Hey, lovebirds, you done hogging the best table in the house?”
Landyn grins, flicking her napkin at me. “Let’s get back on the road before he charges us rent.”
I stand, grabbing our wrappers. “Still can’t eat a full sandwich, huh?”
She lifts her chin. “Guess I still need someone to finish it for me.”
The words were nothing, tossed out with a shrug and a half-smile but they remind me that I used to do that. I would finish her sandwiches, steal her fries, kiss the corner of her mouth after she wiped it with a napkin and missed a spot.
A litany of things I didn’t realize I’d memorized.
We don’t speak again until we’re 15 minutes into our drive home. But the silence isn’t awkward. It’s something else entirely. Something almost like understanding.
Landyn next to me, in the passenger seat of my truck feels so familiar, it aches, like a memory I’m still not sure I’m ready to feel. She shifts slightly in her seat, her voice softer now, her gaze fixed on the blur of towering evergreens rushing past the window.
“You’ve been awfully quiet. That’s suspicious.”
She smirks, keeping her gaze on the blur of trees racing past the window. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the peace.”
“Peace,” I scoff. “You? You’ve never been quiet a day in your life.”
She cuts me a look, amused. “That’s rich, coming from you. You used to lecture me for talking too much on road trips.”
“That was different,” I say, shifting gears smoothly. “Back then, you were distracting me while I was trying to look cool driving.”
“You? Cool?” she laughs, the sound bright and warm. “Ford Winters, you once missed an exit because you couldn’t stop staring at my legs on the dashboard.”
My jaw ticks as the memory slams into me—sunlight on her skin, her laughter echoing in the cab, me gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white because I couldn’t look away.
“Pretty sure that was a strategic choice,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Strategic?” She arches a brow, leaning back like she’s got me cornered.
I glance at her, just long enough to catch the spark in her eyes. “Yeah. Gave me an extra half hour with you in the truck. Worth every mile.”
Her lips part, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sharp inhale, and for a second the only sound is the hum of the tires on the road. The air shifts, charged and a little dangerous, and I have to drag my focus back to the yellow line ahead.
“Careful, June,” I tease gently. “Keep laughing like that, and I might start thinking we’re friends again.”
