9. Haven
9
Haven
C assie is sprawled across the bed once again, her phone in one hand, lazily flipping through whatever social media chaos is keeping her entertained, while I pace the length of the small Airbnb bedroom, my fingers gripping my phone like it might spontaneously combust in my palm.
I swallow hard, exhaling through my nose, trying to ignore the way my pulse has been pounding a little too hard since I read Carter’s text. Since I realized this is actually happening. “I—uh, he’s on his way,” I say finally, voice a little tight and uneven.
Cassie doesn’t even look up. “Shocker.”
I shoot her a glare, my nails tapping against the back of my phone. “No, I mean—like, he’s actually on his way right now.”
She sighs like she’s dealing with a child. “Yes, Haven. That’s what ‘on my way’ typically means.”
I groan, dropping onto the edge of the bed, my knee bouncing, my brain running a full-on marathon in my skull.
Cassie finally looks at me, brows raised, taking in the absolute disaster I’m becoming. She sighs, locking her phone. “Okay. What’s the damage?”
I frown. “What?”
She waves a hand at me. “You’re spiraling. Let’s get it all out now so you don’t freak out in his car and make this weird.”
I groan, flopping back onto the mattress. “I’m not going to freak out.”
Cassie snorts. “You’re five seconds away from a full existential crisis.”
I let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just… real now.”
Cassie tilts her head. “And that’s bad because..?”
“No,” I say quickly, too quickly. “It’s just… different.”
Cassie nods like she already knew I’d say that. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not gonna be in your way much longer.”
That makes me sit up, my stomach twisting. “What?”
She shrugs, reaching for her phone again. “Told you, I’m having my friend pick me up at the diner if we don’t make it back here in time.”
The floor drops out from under me. Not tomorrow, not whenever I decided I was comfortable enough to be alone with Carter. Tonight. I swallow hard, my fingers tangling together in my lap. “Oh.”
Cassie arches a brow. “Oh?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, I mean, that’s fine. Cool, makes sense.”
She smirks like she can see right through me. “Uh-huh,” she says, standing up, stretching. “If you need a pep talk before I go, now’s your chance.”
I huff. “I don’t need a pep talk.”
Cassie grins. “You need several . ”
I groan, and she cackles as she disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the anxiety creeps back in, curling hot and restless in my chest. It’s about to be just me and Carter.
There’s a knock at the door. A short, solid three taps, nothing rushed, nothing hesitant. But it still jolts me like a gunshot, my pulse skipping into a rhythm I can’t control, my entire body going stiff as I stare at the door like it’s a live grenade.
Cassie pops her head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth, eyebrows raised. “That him?” she mumbles around the foam.
I blink. Swallow. Nod.
She grins. “Showtime.”
I don’t dignify that with a response, because I’m too busy pulling in a steadying breath, forcing my legs to move, forcing myself toward the door like this is just any other night, like I haven’t just spent the last half hour mentally short-circuiting over the fact that Cassie is leaving me here alone with Carter. I hesitate for half a second, fixing my expression, shaking out my hands, trying to make my heartbeat chill the hell out.
Then I pull the door open. Carter. Standing in the dim glow of the porch light, hands shoved into his pockets, hair a little messier than before, like he ran his fingers through it a few times on the way over. He’s dressed casually, black T-shirt, jeans, sneakers but somehow it feels like he put more effort into this than he wants me to notice.
The worst part is the second he looks at me, really looks at me, brown eyes dragging over my face like he’s taking me in all over again, I forget how to breathe.
His fingers flex at his sides, and for a second, we just stand there, neither of us speaking, neither of us knowing what the hell to do with this strange, slow-burn energy curling tight between us. Then he clears his throat, breaking the silence first. “You ready?”
No. Absolutely not. But I nod anyway.
The diner Carter takes us to is exactly what I should have expected, small, a little outdated, but warm and familiar in a way that makes me feel like I’ve been here before. The neon sign flickers just enough to make the place feel nostalgic rather than run-down, and inside, the scent of fresh coffee and fried food wraps around me like a hug.
Carter leads the way toward a booth near the window, his presence steady, too easy to follow. I don’t realize how tightly I’ve been gripping my bag until I finally slide into the seat across from him, exhaling slowly, trying to get my heart rate back to normal. It’s fine, this is totally fine.
When I glance up, Carter is watching me. His elbow is propped against the table, fingers drumming lightly against the worn laminate surface, and there’s something unreadable in his expression, something warm but searching. Like he’s trying to figure me out in real time.
I shift under the weight of it, reaching for the menu just to have something to do with my hands. “So, what’s the go-to here?”
Carter smirks, but I don’t miss the way his fingers flex, like he wasn’t expecting the question. “Depends. If you want greasy and regretful, the burgers are solid. If you want a local classic, the pie is kind of a thing here.”
I nod, flipping through the options, pretending not to notice the way his eyes are drawn to my hands when I move. The waitress swings by a moment later, greeting Carter like she knows him, but not well enough to make small talk, just enough familiarity to confirm that this is his place, his town, his world.
I try not to think about that too hard. We order burgers, because I’m hungry and reckless, and Carter didn’t even have to ask how I take my fries, extra crispy, obviously.
And for a while, the conversation is easy. We talk about the town, about how he grew up here, about how weird it is seeing someone from a screen sitting across from you in real life.
Even though the nerves haven’t left me completely, there’s something calming about sitting here with him, about finally having space to just talk, just exist, without feeling like we’re performing for each other. I reach for my drink at the same time Carter reaches for the salt shaker. His hand brushes against mine. It’s nothing, barely a touch. But my skin goes hot immediately, static jumping between us, a tiny spark that zips straight up my arm and lands hard in my chest.
We both freeze. For just a second. For just long enough to register it, feel it, process it.
Then Carter pulls away, slow, his eyes finding mine like he’s checking to see if I felt it too. I swallow hard. Because I did, and from the way he’s looking at me now, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with this new piece of information, I think he did too.
The conversation shifts into something easier, smoother, the kind of back-and-forth that feels like second nature, like we’re slipping into a rhythm we’ve had all along but are only now realizing exists outside of a screen. Carter is… different in person. Not completely, he’s still easygoing, still teases me just enough to keep me on my toes, still watches me with that steady, unreadable gaze that makes me overthink everything I say. But there’s something else now. I don’t know if I like it. Or maybe I do, and that’s a whole new problem.
The minutes slip by without me realizing it, the outside world narrowing down to just this booth, this table, this moment.
Just as I start to settle into it, Cassie stretches her arms overhead, obnoxiously disrupting the fragile balance that had been keeping my thoughts from spiraling into a full-blown crisis.
“Welp,” she says, checking her phone. “That’s my cue.”
I blink. “What?”
She grins, sliding out of the booth. “My ride’s here.”
The words hit like a slow-moving realization, creeping into my brain one syllable at a time. I shift in my seat, suddenly too aware of how little space there is between me and Carter, of the fact that once Cassie walks out that door, it’s just going to be the two of us.
Cassie knows exactly what she’s doing. She leans down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head before throwing Carter one last, borderline-threatening look. “Be good,” she says, but her tone makes it sound more like a warning.
Carter just smirks. “Can’t make any promises.”
Cassie snorts, grabs her bag, and heads for the door. And just like that—she’s gone.
The second the diner door swings shut behind her, the entire atmosphere shifts. Not in a huge, dramatic way, nothing obvious, nothing earth-shattering. Just smaller, quieter, heavier.
I wrap my hands around my glass, fingers pressing into the cool condensation, my brain scrambling for something casual to say, something that doesn’t make this moment feel as significant as it suddenly does. Carter doesn’t move right away.
He just sits there, one arm draped over the back of the booth, his body relaxed but his eyes too sharp, too focused, tracking my every shift, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do first.
Like he’s trying to figure out how this night changes now that it’s just us. I clear my throat, my voice betraying nothing, even though my pulse is saying otherwise. “So, does this mean I finally get to know where you’re taking me next?”
Carter tilts his head slightly, then he smiles, but there’s something else behind it now. “Impatient huh?” he asks.
I roll my eyes, grateful for something normal to latch onto. “I think I’ve earned some information at this point.”
Carter hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “Hmm. Maybe.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re actually just going to keep me guessing all night, aren’t you?”
He grins, and for a second, it feels dangerous. Like he’s enjoying this too much, like he knows something I don’t. “Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, sweetheart.”
My breath catches, just for a second. Because that voice, that nickname. I’m used to it sure, he’s been calling me that since forever.
But this is different, this isn’t a message on a screen. This is real, in-person, direct, his voice lower than usual, just rough enough around the edges to sink into my skin. I reach for my drink again, needing something to busy my hands, something to keep me from thinking too hard about the way my body is reacting to him.
Carter leans forward slightly, like he’s about to say something else—then the waitress swings by with the check, breaking the moment just as fast as it started. I exhale slowly, dragging my nails against the curve of my glass as Carter grabs the receipt before I can even move.
I glare at him. “I can pay for my own food, you know.”
Carter barely glances up, signing the slip with easy confidence. “Not tonight.”
I cross my arms. “That’s not fair.” He finally looks at me, one brow arched. “And?”
I hate that I don’t have a response to that. I just huff, grabbing my bag, determined not to let this turn into something bigger than it is.
Carter stands too, and suddenly, I’m reminded just how much bigger he is than me. How he takes up more space than I thought he would, how close he feels even when he’s not touching me.
His voice is lighter when he speaks again, like he’s cutting the tension just enough. “Come on. Before you start getting ideas about paying me back.”
I roll my eyes, but follow him toward the door.