Page 22 of The Pocket Pair

I don’t answer it. I don’t argue. I just hug my friends and try not to think about saying goodbye. About next steps. About change. About being left behind, even though technically, I’m the one leaving.

And I definitely try not to think about the man a few feet away who’s definitely not thinking about me.

Winnie lowers her voice. “Lindy, you still need to take that pregnancy test.”

“Byeeee,” Lindy calls, breaking out of our embrace and booking it to Pat’s truck as fast as her cowboy boots will take her.

Maybe I’m not the only ostrich.

Pat must take Lindy’s hurry to mean she’s VERY excited to get home for reasons I’d rather not think about, because he grins and sprints around to the driver’s side, calling, “See ya!”

And then there were four.

“I’ll walk you home?” James asks Winnie, and it’s pretty adorable to see the giant, gruff man ask such a sweet question.

Winnie’s newly completed loft is a few blocks away, basically across the street from the loft James shares with his dad, who splits his time between Sheet Cake and Austin. She told me that they sometimes walk each other home, back and forth to each other’s lofts, for half an hour.

They’re stupidly, disgustingly, wonderfully adorable.

Is it too much to ask for a guy who will be stupidly adorable with me?

My eyes cut to Chevy because they’re gluttons for punishment. I expect him to be looking at James and Winnie too, but his brown eyes are on me. He blinks like I’ve startled him and looks away.

Winnie pokes me in the arm, giving me a look that’s less lovey-dovey and more Arnold Schwarzenegger’s I’ll-be-back. “As for you—we’ll talk later.”

Winnie and James are barely out of earshot when Chevy whispers. “Yikes.”

Yikes is right.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Chevy asks. “After all, I’ve got to help maintain the safety of the town.”

Sheet Cake is about the safest place you could walk to a car alone. But I’m not about to argue with the man. In fact, I’ll happily pretend to be terrified of my own shadow if it means Chevy walking me to my car.

Until I remember: Winnie picked up Lindy and me and planned to take us home.

And then forgot all about me because she got distracted by her boyfriend. Awesome. Never mind that I didn’t even remember until just now. It doesn’t ease the sting of being forgotten.

“Actually … could I trouble you for a ride home?”

“Of course,” Chevy says with an easy grin.

I’m feeling suddenly and strangely shy. “You really don’t mind?”

With a wink that floods my entire system with instant dopamine, Chevy’s smile widens and his dang dimples appear. “I’ll even let you pick the music.”

CHAPTER 7

Val

In Chevy’s Mustang, I opt for silence, not music. I need some quiet to settle my overwhelm. Lindy might be pregnant. My friends now know I’m leaving. And then the flirtation with Chevy at CVS.

Maybe that’s why the silence between us feels loud. Not settling. Chevy keeps shifting in his seat, and every so often, I feel the heat of his gaze land on me. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying not to audibly sniff so he won’t notice me committing the smell of his leather seats—and of him—to memory.

Lately, I’ve been adding extra emotional weight to every little thing. Making note of the last time I’ll drive around that pothole on Cane Street. The last time I’ll have one of Big Mo’s egg sandwiches with perfectly ripened tomatoes. The last time I’ll feel a flutter in my belly when Chevy aims his dimpled smile in my general vicinity.

The last time I’ll ride in his passenger seat, his presence sucking up all the air between us.

“What?” I ask, when I catch Chevy sneaking another glance my way.

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