Chapter 9
LILY
I rest my head against the passenger window of Josh’s truck, skin buzzing at a high voltage with nowhere for the electricity to go.
I tell myself it’s the endorphins from the hike, the extra blood pumping through my system after hours of climbing hills under a bright sun.
It has nothing to do with the man driving, jaw set with that reassuring confidence as he navigates the winding roads back toward the city.
The same guy whose laugh has been ricocheting around my ribcage all afternoon, who’s made me smile more in one day than I have in months.
Nope. Definitely exercise afterglow. Move along folks, nothing to see here.
Josh’s truck smells like him—clean laundry, coconut, and masculinity.
A small firefighter helmet charm hangs from the rearview mirror, and he keeps a box of protein bars stuffed in the center console.
His phone is connected to the stereo, playing country music I’ve never heard, but that fits the mood.
I try to focus on the passing hills, but it’s useless.
My attention bounces back to him whenever he so much as shifts in his seat or hums as he changes lanes.
I notice every time he runs a hand through his hair.
Each tiny, ordinary thing hits me sharper than the glare of the lowering sun on the hood.
We stop at a red light, and Josh turns to look at me. His face scrunches with… indecision? As if he’s debating whether to say something.
“So.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Are we heading home?”
A note of reluctance tinges his voice, as if he weren’t thrilled with the idea of our day ending. And neither am I. The thought of going back to my empty apartment and watching the hours tick by until Penny comes home tomorrow seems unbearably lonely.
“Are you kidding?” I straighten up. “We can’t skip the post-hike tacos. It’s, like, against the law in California.”
His face brightens, and I’m struck by how readable his expressions are.
Josh is incapable of guile. Everything he feels plays across his features.
Unless I’m projecting what I want to see.
Maybe he was politely ending our day. Maybe he’s tired of my company and wants a break. And I misread his expression.
“Unless you’re tired and want to—” I backpedal.
“No way,” he interrupts. “I didn’t pretend to enjoy sweating up a mountain all day for nothing.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so you were in it just for the tacos?”
“They were a major motivating factor,” he admits with a grin. “But the company wasn’t bad either.”
The light turns green, and he speeds up through the intersection.
I count the streetlights so one very basic compliment won’t knock the logic right out of my head.
“Well, in that case,” I say, “I have another unmissable LA experience for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
I direct him toward the coast, to the most-underrated food truck in LA.
“Take this next right,” I instruct as we approach a bend. “Then follow the road until you see a blue van with a giant octopus painted on the side.”
Josh drives along, and soon we’re pulling into a small parking area overlooking the ocean from up a cliff. A short line of people waits in front of the truck, blocking most of the tentacled artwork curling around a stylized taco. It’s mostly locals. Tourists stick to the more famous spots.
“Alright, you’re in on my best secret now,” I tell Josh as we join the queue. “These tacos will ruin you for all others.”
“Is there a secret handshake to pay, or do I just nod knowingly at the cashier?” He smirks down at me.
Gosh, he’s so tall. “Regular cash will do.”
“How did you find it?”
“My sister. Her agent tipped her off about it, and Josie let me in on the secret.”
“Is she an actress? Is that how she met Rian Phoenix?”
“Oh, no. They met when they got stuck in an elevator together. And Josie writes and illustrates children’s books. I meant literary agent.”
“Ah. Bet Penny is her number one fan.”
“Yep, she was the inspiration behind the career shift. My sister was in PR. Dorian is a client of her old firm.”
When we reach the front of the line, I order in Spanish. I studied it in high school and use it daily in the ER. The guy behind the counter recognizes me and throws in an extra taco “for the pretty lady and her boyfriend.”
I start to correct him, but Josh grins and says, “Gracias,” before I can get the words out.
“You speak Spanish?” I ask as we walk away with our food.
“Enough to order beer and find a bathroom,” he replies. “Not enough to explain I’m not your novio.”
I laugh despite myself. “You should pick up lessons. Spanish is SoCal’s unofficial second language.”
Instead of sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables near the truck, Josh suggests we eat in the bed of his pickup. He lowers the tailgate and spreads out a blanket he pulls from behind the seat.
“Always prepared, huh?” I comment as he helps me climb up.
“Eagle Scout,” he replies with a mock salute. “Also, I sleep back here sometimes when I go camping.”
We settle side by side, legs dangling off the tailgate, food spread between us. The sun has started its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reflect off the water. The ocean stretches out before us, waves crashing against the shore below.
When I take in the scene in its entirety—the sunset, the blue waters, the two of us sitting together in the back of his truck, and the gentle background music playing from the food truck—I realize how date-like the setting is.
My pulse quickens, and I focus on unwrapping my taco to avoid looking at him.
“These are amazing,” Josh says after his first bite, closing his eyes in appreciation. “I might have to break my lease and move next door to this truck.”
“Told you,” I shoot back, way too pleased that he’s loving my favorite spot.
In a treacherous, unguarded moment, I’m also glad this is a place I discovered after Daniel passed. That no memories link us to this cliff. That I’m a little lighter up here.
We eat in companionable silence, both of us too hungry after our hike and a lunch of protein bars to waste energy on conversation.
The tacos are as amazing as always—fresh fish, crisp cabbage, and that perfect blend of spices that makes my taste buds sing.
But I’m hyperaware of Josh’s presence beside me.
I clock the way he tears open his wrapper, careful not to spill, and how he licks a smear of salsa off his thumb like it’s nothing.
We wolf the food down. When Josh finishes his last taco, he crumples the wrapper, aiming for the bin a few feet away. It’s a perfect toss. He whoops.
“Show-off,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
He leans back on his hands, face turned toward the setting sun. “I could get used to this,” he whispers, almost to himself.
I look at his profile, gilded by the golden light, and let myself imagine what it would be like if this were an actual date.
If I were free to lean into him, to let my head rest on his shoulder, to feel his arm wrap around me as we watch the sun sink into the ocean.
The longing that washes over me is so intense it’s painful.
Josh must be thinking along the same lines because, still looking out at the water rather than at me, he asks, “Do you take all your new friends here?”
I pick at the paper napkin in my lap, buying a second before answering. “I haven’t made new friends in forever,” I admit. “I’m improvising.”
He nods, seeming to accept this. “Well, the county should hire you. You’re really selling the LA experience.” He pauses, then casually—maybe too casually—adds, “Any suggestions for what I should do tomorrow?”
Is he asking for recommendations, or is he asking if I’m free? What do I want it to be? The problem is, the more I draw a sensible line between us, the more I want to cross it.
“The beach is off-limits with your injury.” I nod toward his bandaged arm. “But you should do the Santa Monica Pier experience at least once. It’s touristy, but in a fun way.”
He nudges my leg with his, still watching the horizon. “If I show up there alone, they’ll spot me for a tourist in two seconds flat. Any chance I can bribe a local to keep me from getting hustled by boardwalk magicians?”
My heart rate picks up. There’s no mistaking his meaning now.
“I’m sure Agatha would accept night-vision binoculars as a bribe to go,” I deflect.
He turns his face now and looks at me, blue eyes searching mine. “Not the local I had in mind.”
Every nerve in my body wakes up at once, and a spike of want cuts through me—immediate, impossible to deny. I have to fight the urge to look away. My pulse is galloping, wild and uneven, thrumming loud in my ears.
I should say no. I barely know Josh, and getting attached is the last thing I need. Worse, would I be leading him on if I accepted? But I’ve been clear we can only be friends.
Still, Penny is coming home tomorrow. I should rest, be responsible, catch up on that laundry, not get in any deeper.
But it’s a walk on the pier, I argue with myself, in broad daylight, in a public space, and I can always leave early. Besides, Josh is new in town, and I’d feel guilty abandoning him to the mercy of boardwalk performers.
“What neighbor would I be if I left you to get hustled by a guy in a SpongeBob costume?” I hope he can’t hear the doubts in my voice.
“The unforgivable kind.” His eyes crinkle with warmth.
I finish my taco, but we stay put even when I’m done, drinking in the view until the sun disappears behind the horizon in a final blaze of glory. The sky darkens, and stars blink through the twilight.
“Ready to go home now?” he asks. “I’ll finally let you have some couch rest.”
The way he says home throws me for a loop. I know he means back to our housing complex and separate apartments, but the word echoes louder inside my chest.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I say, even if I’m not. For the first time in forever, I don’t want the night to end. I don’t want to just curl up in bed and cease to exist for a few merciful hours, where pain and memories can’t get me. I want more.