22
WHEN Willa woke up she was no longer in the passenger seat, but on a couch in a dimly lit room. Tucked beneath a thin quilt. She sat up with a gasp, looking around. Where was she? Where was Trevor?
“You fell asleep in the car.”
She looked across the dark room, and found Sawyer. Sitting in a nearby wingback chair, his face illuminated by the glow of his smartphone. “Figured you’d be more comfortable in here.”
“What time is it?” she asked. “Where’s Trevor?”
He glanced down at his phone. “Around eight,” he answered. “And as for Trevor, he already ate dinner and went back to sleep upstairs.”
“Oh…” she said, feeling a little like Rip Van Winkle. Sleeping away while the world passed her by.
Sawyer clicked on a nearby lamp, casting the room in a faint orange glow. “He told me earlier I
