*Rasmus*
For some reason I remember the team charity event and barbecue we had last year on the beach, where I spent most of the evening watching Ava from across the deck and pretending I wasn't.
"You're staring," she says, not turning from the window.
"I'm driving."
"You're driving and staring."
I let the corner of my mouth move. "Multitasking."
She doesn't smile back, but her shoulders drop half an inch. I'll take it.
The truck's headlights sweep across a row of mailboxes and I slow for the gravel lane. Live oaks lean over the road, their branches scraping the roof with a sound like someone dragging fingernails across canvas. The house appears at the end of the drive, low and dark, its windows catching the moon.
I kill the engine and the sudden quiet presses against my ears. The
