15. Reed
reed
. . .
The arrivals board keeps flickering between flight numbers and delays, but I really don’t notice it anymore.
My hands are shoved in my jacket pockets, the hum of rolling luggage and chatter blend into static.
I’ve been standing at baggage claim C for nearly an hour, pretending to scroll through my phone when all I’m really doing is replaying her text in my head.
“Yeah! I’ll be there tonight.”
I told myself I was being a decent man by picking her up, so she wouldn’t have to ride alone so late.
But decent men don’t count the literal minutes or hours until sunshine walks back into their lives.
I’ve been standing here long enough for my coffee to go cold, as my boots are planted on the polished floor, tapping away in a nervous rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I grab it quickly, reading the message flashing across the screen.
Layla
Finally off the plane, headed to baggage claim
I exhale as my thumb hovers over the screen.
Reed
I’m by baggage claim C.
Before I can lock the screen, I spot her.
She’s weaving through the crowd as she grips her purse, and her other hand is clutching her phone.
The hood of her bright yellow hoodie is half up, her hair spilling around her face. She’s analyzing the crowd, her eyes scanning everywhere until they land on me.
And she smiles.
Her damn smile. She’s so goddamn radiant, and she doesn’t even realize how much of an effect she has on me.
When she reaches me, her words spill out, a cue that she’s nervous.
“Hi—oh my god, hey—sorry, I’m talking too fast. I didn’t sleep on the flight, and they ran out of pretzels—criminal, right? And some guy sneezed on my laptop, so now I think I have the plague—”
“Layla.”
Her mouth snaps shut. “Yeah?”
“You’re here,” I say quietly, a ghost of a smile dances across my lips.
She laughs nervously. “Yeah. I’m here.”
The noise around us briefly softens.
I notice the faint circles under her eyes and the exhaustion in her sagging shoulders, but she keeps trying to hide it, filling the silence with a bright smile.
She quickly adjusts her hoodie, pulling the fabric down, and in that movement, her features become more defined.
A blooming bruise, right below her collarbone.
My pulse quickens, the roar of my heartbeat drowning everything out. My jaw locks before my brain even catches up.
She doesn’t notice me staring as she continues talking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this airport so busy this late. You didn’t have to wait, you know. You really didn’t.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I did.”
Her voice falters. “You—you did?”
“Layla.” I soften it this time, letting her name hang in the space between us. “You hungry?”
Her head pops up, surprised by the shift. “Starving.”
“Good,” I murmur, grabbing her suitcase before she can, as it comes around on the belt. “Figured as much.”
“Oh my god, thank you, I swear it weighs less than it looks—actually, no, that’s a lie, it probably weighs a ton—”
“Not heavy,” I say, because she looks like she needs me to say it.
I set it upright beside me, my hand brushing hers for half a second.
“Truck’s outside,” I tell her.
“I can’t believe you drove all the way here, that’s like an hour. You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve—”
“Layla.”
“Right. You said you’d be here.” She smiles again, softer this time. “You really meant it.”
“Always do.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks in this pretty hue of scarlet as she looks at me, really looks, and, for the first time since she stepped off that plane, she stops talking.
The silence remains, full yet comfortable, before I nod toward the doors. “C’mon. Let’s get some food in you.”
She falls into step beside me, her sleeve brushing my arm as we head for the exit.
Her perfume curls through the air—cherry and vanilla notes—and it makes the whole damn airport feel smaller.
Outside, the air is cooler with the distant promise of rain. The parking lot lights cast a soft yellow glow over the pavement, catching in her hair as she tugs her hood tighter.
“You cold?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, just… tired.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, unlocking the truck. “You and me both.”
I steal a quick look at that bruise barely visible under her hoodie. A quiet, yet intense anger builds inside me, tightly coiled in my chest.
Whoever put that mark on her is never touching her again.
We don’t talk as we walk. Her sneakers scuff against the concrete, and my boots clack.
The air carries that faint autumn bite that sneaks under your collar, sharp enough to make her tuck her chin into her hoodie.
Her suitcase rattles behind her, the wheels clicking unevenly over the cracks. I reach for the handle before I even realize it. She lets go without a word.
We keep moving as rain trickles in from the structure’s open edges.
It dots her hair, darkening the strands where it lands. She tugs the hood tighter around her face, shivering once and remaining quiet.
I shift her suitcase to my left hand as I shrug off my jacket, draping it over her so she’s warm.
An old reflex my mama drilled into me before I was tall enough to reach the door handle on her old truck.
“You take care of people, Reed. That’s what we do.”
I open the passenger door first. The rain has picked up now, a slow, rhythmic patter against the structure’s roof.
“Careful,” I murmur, as I brace my hand above the doorframe, so she doesn’t bump her head.
She climbs in slowly, her movements small and cautious.
The overhead lights hit her face just enough for me to see the faint curiosity in her eyes.
She settles into the passenger seat, and I close the door softly, avoiding a slam.
I circle back to the driver’s side, and she’s looking out the window, not at the rain, but at me.
Her eyes are glossy in the dim light, not crying, but on the brink of it, that worn-out look people get after they’ve held too much for too long.
I load her bags into the back, along with her purse. She watches me through the rearview mirror the entire time. I can feel her eyes burning straight through me.
When I finally sit behind the wheel, the air inside the truck feels warmer. She’s now turned toward me, her hoodie slipping off one shoulder. The bruise reflects the faint dashboard light. I look away before the anger comes back.
“Seatbelt,” I say quietly.
She blinks, like she’s waking from a thought, and reaches for it. The soft click echoes in the silence.
I start the engine. The hum fills the space between us, but she’s still staring.
I finally glance her way. “What?”
Her lips twitch, a faint smile. “Nothing… you do all that; carry the bags, give me your jacket, open doors, like it’s automatic.”
“Was raised that way.”
“By your mom?”
I nod once, eyes on the rearview. “Yeah.”
She looks down at her lap, her fingers tracing the seam of her jeans. “She did a good job.”
Something twists in my chest. “Yeah,” I mumble. “She did.”
Outside, the rain begins to fall harder. The wipers move slowly as I pull out of the structure, headlights cutting through the darkness.
She leans her head against the window, watching the city lights blur past as her reflection meets mine.
The silence isn’t awkward anymore like before, and honestly, I’m getting used to her company.
As we leave Nashville behind, I still feel her eyes on me, not with fear this time, but something gentler, something that feels a lot like trust.
The rain has faded into mist by the time we’re halfway to Ruby Ridge. The truck hums steadily, its headlights cutting through the dark stretch of Tennessee highway.
She sits cross-legged in the passenger seat now, her hair loose around her shoulders. She’s been talking for the last fifteen minutes.
And honestly, I’m not even pretending to dislike it.
She squeals, clapping her hands. “Let’s play a questions game.”
I sigh, nodding my head in approval.
“Okay, how old are you?”
I huff out a laugh. “Thirty-three, you?”
She giggles. “Twenty-seven, can’t you see how radiant I am?”
I smirk. If only she knew her radiance is the only thing I look forward to.
She taps her chin dramatically. “Okay, favorite color.”
I glance at her, a hint of a smile tugging at my mouth. “Green.”
She hums, analyzing my answer. “Forest green or, like… muted cactus green?”
I let out a soft laugh under my breath. “Didn’t realize there were different kinds.”
“There are always different kinds,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “Mine’s yellow. Like the sun. Or sunflowers. Or traffic lights when you’re already halfway through the intersection.”
“Dangerous,” I murmur.
“Fun,” she counters, grinning.
Her laugh spills into the cab again, and I find myself wanting her to keep going; to fill the quiet, to keep laughing so I can hear that sweet noise again.
“Favorite flower,” she says next, tucking her legs under her.
“Roses,” I answer without thinking.
She blinks, surprised. “That’s… unexpectedly sweet.”
“My mama’s favorite,” I say with a shrug, as my hands tighten on the wheel. “It just stuck with me.”
“Still sweet,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear, quickly saying her answer. “Mine’s sunflowers. They always face the light, even when it rains.”
“That fits you.”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, tracing her finger along the fogged window. “So honest of you, Reed.”
I grunt in response, not knowing what to say to her. She makes me nervous, and communicating hasn’t always been my strong suit, but being near her makes me want to try.
Her blue eyes glance at me again, softer this time.
She’s the only woman who can look at me with that curiosity in her eyes, and somehow it creates a look that makes my pulse race.
The moon slips out from behind a cloud, light pouring through the windshield just enough to highlight her face.
Her eyes aren’t just blue, they’re tinged with flecks of amber and honey, colors I’ve never seen on anyone else.
For a second, I forget about the road, about the rain, about everything but her.
Pay attention to the road, Reed, fuck.
She quickly looks away, and I drag my gaze back to the highway, clenching my jaw tightly, pretending I didn’t just lose my breath over the simple fact of her eye color.
She clears her throat. “Okay, favorite movie.”
“Terrifier.”
She gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Reed, that movie is terrifying, ha, get it?”
I snicker in response.
She grins, blurting out her answer. “Mine’s She’s All That.”
“Never heard of it.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re kidding. It’s iconic. A high school makeover movie? Freddie Prinze Jr.? Paul Walker?”
“Doesn’t sound like somethin’ I’d watch.”
“Well, I’m going ot make you watch it with me then.”
I choke on a laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, sunshine, whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want, huh?” she says, shifting closer, her tone teasing but her eyes saying something else entirely.
My hands tighten on the wheel. “You’re trouble.”
She leans forward, whispering conspiratorially, “The fun kind.”
And without a thought, she absentmindedly reaches over the center console, her hand landing on my arm.
It’s just a light touch, barely anything at all. Her fingers curl loosely around my bicep, and I feel every sensation of her touch, goosebumps erupting on my skin instantly.
My breath catches, as my eyes flicker down for a split second.
Her thumb brushes along the fabric of my flannel as she continues talking, something about art, paint colors, and canvases, completely unaware of what she’s doing to me, not even realizing she’s stroking my arm.
“I paint when I can,” she says softly. “Not for anyone else. Just for me. It’s quiet when I do.”
I glance at her, my throat tight. “You good at it?”
She shrugs, still tracing little circles on my arm. “It makes me feel like I am.”
Her touch lingers another beat before she finally pulls away, and the air that rushes in where her hand was feels too cold, too empty.
I clear my throat, trying to sound steady. “You miss it?”
“Every day,” she whispers, her eyes turning back to the rolling pastures. “I get so busy with content creation and editing that I never have time to sit down, relax, and paint.”
I grunt in response, not knowing what to tell her in this moment.
Her lips curve. “Maybe we can paint while I’m out here.”
My eyes are focused on the road, but I can’t help but smile. “I can make that happen.”
She smiles in response, letting out a long sigh.
The cab settles back into silence, but it feels different now.
Her fingers brush the edge of her hoodie again, fidgeting as my knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.
I catch one more glance, her half-smile, her eyes heavy from traveling, and everything in me fights the urge not to reach for her.
The highway curves ahead as the world around us fades into the kind of night that only happens when two people are pretending not to fall for each other.