The black car moved through the Sunday morning streets of Pasadena and Shae sat in the back with her hands folded in her lap and watched the city pass and felt her heart doing something she had not given it permission to do.
She had not expected him to answer.
This was the honest truth of it — the thing underneath the impulse that had sent the text, the layer she was sitting with now with the hills getting closer through the window and Terry navigating the turn onto Chaney Trail with the focused, wordless competency he brought to every drive. She had sent the address on a kind of impulse she hadn't fully examined before acting on, and she had sat with the phone in her hand in the quiet of the study and genuinely not known what she was expecting. Not this. Not see you then arriving in und
