Heart sunglasses, a beanie for trevor, matching flip flops, a map, two marble rings, a bobbly head for my office desk, weird abstract paintings, a clay vase for Trevor and a small post card later, we were practically dragging our feet down the street.
“Where’d you pack the truck?” I wine, my arms aching from holding these bags for so long.
“To tell you the truth, Ocean,” Trevor heaves, “I think we’re lost.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“No,” he deadpans, “you’re so dramatic, we’re right over there.”
He points towards freedom and all of my strength returns as I barrel towards the vehicle, nearly getting trampled by traffic. He unlocks the door and I happily shove everything inside, shaking my arms in relief.
“Are you ready to get back to the hotel?”
I nod, “We haven’t eaten today.”
“D
