Chapter 5

Paige stood in the short checkout line behind two older women who kept leaning into each other as they talked. One had her hand resting lightly at the small of the other’s back, the kind of easy, practiced touch that only came from years of belonging to the same person. They argued softly about whether it was too cold to walk home, smiling the whole time.

“Do you know what the temperature is out there, honey?” the shorter one asked, turning toward Paige. “I’m not stepping outside if it’s dropped again.”

“I left my phone in the car,” Paige said. “Sorry.”

The women exchanged a look that was pure delighted speculation.

“Someone waiting for you out there?” the taller one asked, voice warm. “A girlfriend, maybe?”

There was no hesitation in the question, no careful testing of the air. Just simple, open assumption that love could look however it wanted.

Paige felt heat climb her neck. Not because of the word itself—girlfriend had never been the problem—but because the someone waiting was Riley. Because Riley had already seen too much of her private life tonight. Because the history between them made even a stranger’s casual question feel like it had landed too close to the truth.

“Something like that,” she managed, and stepped forward when the cashier called her.

She paid for the rotisserie chicken, the plastic container still warm in her hands, and turned toward the front windows. Riley stood just outside under the overhang, her new ridiculous shirt already darkening at the shoulder where rain had reached it. The pink lettering looked even more absurd under the store lights. In her good hand she held Paige’s phone, waving it once with raised eyebrows, as if to say you forgot this, obviously.

Paige gestured for her to come inside. Riley pointed at her re-wrapped arm and shook her head, then mouthed something Paige couldn’t read. After a second of silent negotiation, Riley gave up, tucked the phone into her pocket, and jogged back toward the car with her shoulders hunched against the mist.

Paige followed a minute later, chicken balanced carefully, and slid into the driver’s seat. The interior still smelled faintly of rain and the metallic edge of blood that hadn’t fully left the old blouse.

Riley was already on the phone, voice low and polite in a way Paige rarely heard from her.

“Yeah, I understand. We’ll be there as soon as the roads clear a little… No receipts under my name if you can help it… Appreciate it.”

She ended the call and set the phone back in the cup holder. For a moment neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft tick of the cooling engine and the rain starting to pick up again on the roof.

Paige pulled out of the lot and took the side road the GPS had suggested—an older route that cut through a stretch of dense trees. The sky had narrowed to a thin band of deep purple between the branches. Headlights caught wet leaves and nothing else. The usual city glow was gone.

“Shop’s expecting us,” Riley said eventually. “They’ll keep it quiet.”

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence. It should have felt ordinary. It didn’t. Every few seconds Paige was aware of the exact distance between their shoulders, of the way Riley’s knee rested close to the gear shift, of the cheap pink letters still visible even in the dark. A few months of being together had taught her the shape of Riley’s quiet. Tonight that same quiet felt heavier, charged with everything they weren’t saying.

Riley shifted, the movement careful. “You didn’t have to stop for food.”

“I did, actually.” Paige kept her eyes on the narrow road. “Some of us get lightheaded when we forget to eat. I’d rather not add passing out to the list of things that have gone wrong tonight.”

A soft huff of air—almost a laugh—came from the passenger seat.

“Still dramatic,” Riley murmured.

“Still bossy,” Paige answered, and the words came out warmer than she intended.

The trees pressed closer on both sides. The road felt like it was narrowing with every mile. Riley’s voice, when it came again, was quieter.

“You know that shirt you bought me is going to haunt me, right?”

Paige risked a glance. In the low light she could just make out the curve of Riley’s mouth.

“Good,” she said. “Consider it as interest on the five dollars.”

Riley turned her head fully toward her then. The mismatched eyes caught the dashboard glow—one warmer, one cooler—and for a second the look she gave Paige was the same one she used to give her in the dark when they still had permission to look that long.

“Careful,” Riley said, voice low. “Keep talking to me like that and I might start thinking you missed this.”

The car suddenly felt smaller. Paige’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, but something in her chest did not.

She opened her mouth to answer—

But then simply closed it and shook it. She must be thinking too much into it. It probably didn’t mean anything.