When Rivera slid into the car, she didn’t close the door immediately. She lingered halfway in, one hand on the handle, looking up at him.
“Reagan, people are staring,” she said quietly, not accusing, just overwhelmed.
He rested one arm on the roof of the car, leaning slightly toward her. “They always stare.”
“That’s not normal.”
“It is for me." There was no arrogance in his voice. Just a quiet, tired fact. She studied his face like she was trying to understand the life he had lived before she entered it. Then she sighed and got in.
He closed the door for her gently. She was surprised at how careful he had suddenly become with her, like she was something fragile.
Rivera watched him walk around the front of the car through the windshield. Even outside, even doing something as ordinary
