The bell above the diner door jingles softly as we step out into the late morning light. Warmth settles over my skin, followed by the quiet — the absence of clinking dishes and low conversations. Out here, the world feels wider.
Less contained.
Munro walks beside me, unhurried, giving me space without feeling distant. For a few steps we say nothing. The silence feels different now — not strained or sharp. Softer. Like something between us has loosened.
We reach his truck, dust clinging to the dark paint from long desert roads. He opens the passenger door and I climb in. The leather seat warm from the sun, the air inside carrying faint notes of cedar, motor oil, and something distinctly him.
The engine turns over with a low, steady rumble.
We pull onto the road.
For a minute, we ri
