Chapter 14
April
The gas station isn’t much—just a handful of pumps, a convenience store with flickering fluorescent lights, and a vending machine outside that looks like it hasn’t worked since the early 2000s, but it has snacks, and that’s all that matters.
Max fuels up while I wander the aisles, collecting reinforcements for the next stretch of the trip: sour candy, chips, trail mix, more gummy worms—because obviously—and two bottles of cold water. I throw in a couple of iced coffees for later, just in case, and then as I’m heading to the register, I see them.
Postcards.
A dusty little rack near the door, full of oversaturated desert skies and vintage-looking road signs.
I smile, flipping through until I find one with a sunset over a cracked desert highway and another with a fade.
“Welcome to Nowhere, New Mexico”
sign and a tumbleweed in the corner.
One for me.
One for Max.
The landscape has shifted again. Gone are the flat, endless stretches. Now it’s full of rock formations, sun-bleached brush, jagged hills, and skies so wide they could swallow you whole. The kind of place where silence has meaning.
“This is beautiful,”
I murmur, half to myself.
Max glances over, then pulls off at a scenic overlook, easing the car into a small gravel turnout that opens onto a panoramic view of the high desert below.
The moment we stop, I’m out of the car. The wind is dry and warm, the air smelling faintly of dust and sun-heated stone. I pull my camera from my backpack—the one I almost didn’t bring because I thought this trip would be nothing but chaos and caffeine—and lift it to my face.
Click.
The sky, pale blue and endless.
Click.
The road we’ve just driven, winding behind us.
Click.
Max, leaning against the hood of the SUV, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the rust-colored rock and distant mesas.
I snap the photo before thinking too much about it.
He looks good like this. Untouched by the noise. Relaxed. Quiet in a way I don’t think he gets to be very often.
“Taking pictures of me without permission?”
he asks, soaking in the view.
“Gotta document the mystery man who rescued me from airport purgatory.”
He huffs a laugh, then pulls out his phone.
“Alright then,”
he says, walking over.
“If we’re documenting—let’s do one together.”
I blink.
“A selfie?”
“For the road trip album.”
He leans in beside me, holding up his phone. I’m still a little surprised, but I don’t question it. I just smile and lean into him like we’ve done this before.
He taps the screen.
Click.
And just like that, we exist together in a tiny moment, frozen between dust and sky.
Something to remember.
Something to keep.
I don’t look at the picture right away.
We climb back into the car, buckle up, pull onto the road—and for a few minutes, the only sound is the soft hum of Elvis playing in the background.
When we hit a long, flat stretch of highway with no cars for miles, I glance down and tap the screen.
There we are.
Her smile—warm, unguarded. She’s leaning into me, squinting from the sun, and the edges of her hair are wind-blown. Like this is something we do.
And me? I’m smiling too. A real smile. Before I can second-guess it, I swipe up and send it to Nico.
ME
don’t say anything
just look
It takes maybe five seconds.
NICO
DUDE
you’re fucked
she’s gorgeous
and you’re CLEARLY in love
also
since when do you take selfies???
am I about to start seeing pics of you in a gym mirror? inspirational captions?
"new week new mindset" vibes??
ME
blocked
NICO
I’ll officiate the wedding. Say the word.
I shut off the screen before I spiral, and glance at April, who’s sitting cross-legged, sipping iced coffee from a tiny glass bottle. She’s scrolling through her pictures, probably editing the one she took of me when she thought I wasn’t looking. That makes it all harder. She sees me, even when I’m trying to not be seen.
I check the dashboard clock. We’re right on track.
“We’re about two hours out from Cloudcroft,”
I say, eyes still on the road.
“I already booked us a hotel—little place just off the main road. Great reviews. Looks quiet.”
She turns toward me, eyes wide.
“You booked it already?”
“Figured we’d be tired. Didn’t want to risk everything being full.”
She smiles, soft and simple, but it does something to me anyway.
“That was really thoughtful.”
“Well,”
I say, keeping my eyes ahead.
“I’m trying to maintain my emotionally reserved highway hero status.”
She laughs under her breath.
“You’re doing an alarmingly good job.”
The GPS says we’ll get there just before sunset, and I hope it’s the kind of sunset she’ll want to take a picture of.