Page 27 of Moving Forward

I turn off my phone’s alarm and sit up in bed. “Cain is picking me up soon to do something.”

“Well, have fun,” she grumbles.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“What?” she cries out, bounding out of the bed. Her day-old eyeliner is running down her cheeks and her Breathe-Rite strip is hanging halfway off her nose. I’ve never had the courage to tell her that it doesn’t actually help her snoring. “You’re going out with him?”

“As friends,” I clarify. I search through the dresser for something to wear. Ellie has been kind enough to share her drawer space so I don’t have to live out of my suitcase for a month.

“Friends who wear each other’s clothes?” she asks. I glance at her, involuntarily running my hand over the softness of the sweater. I thought for sure it would have lost his scent by now, but it’s still just as strong. I’m fighting the urge to bury my nose in it and breathe him in.

“And he’s gotten you up this early? God, it usually takes a freaking bullhorn and a real bull to get you up before ten.”

“Ellie . . .” I mumble.

“Just friends,” she sighs, dropping back down into bed. “I know, I know. Go spend time with your friend. Don’t forget about Erin’s baby shower later.”

“I won’t.” I get changed quickly, brush my teeth, make my hair acceptable then bound outside, already ten minutes late. I’m pretty sure I might have accidentally woken up the rest of the house in the process, but the Millers seem to thrive on as little sleep as possible. And somehow still manage to look pretty.

The second I see Cain standing in the driveway, all my thoughts disappear. He’s leaning against a well-loved truck, holding two coffees. His lips tug into a smile as I walk up to him and take one of the coffees. “Well, well, good morning sleepyhead. Coffee might be cold by now,” he warns. I take a sip of it and sigh happily. The coffee is delicious. Over the brim of the cup, I find him staring at me with an intense expression that sears my insides. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

“I’m here, though,” I point out.

He looks at me in disbelief until he finally nods. He straightens and follows me to the passenger door to open it for me. I slide past him. Before he shuts the door, he leans toward me, overpowering me with his cedar scent. Something about him has changed since last night—he’s more present.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, his voice like sandpaper. Although his expression is stoic, there’s an intense gleam in his eyes that I can’t meet. I keep my eyes trained on my sandals instead. He releases a breath and shuts my door, sipping his coffee as he walks around the front of the car to the driver’s seat. “You're not a morning person?”

“Is it that obvious?” I ask.

He starts up the truck. It roars to life like a fossilized dinosaur. Hopefully this thing is alive enough to get us to wherever we’re going.

He drives to the end of the driveway and onto the road. I can’t help noticing that he checks for traffic several times before finally turning, and when he does, his hands grip the steering wheel precisely at ten and two.

“Very obvious,” he says. “You still look like you’re in a dream.”

“I don’t have dreams a lot,” I admit, watching the trees as we drive. “When I do, they turn out to be more nightmarish.” I’ve never told anyone else I still can’t get a full night’s sleep. But I can’t help but tell Cain everything—it’s so right and healing.

“I understand more than you can imagine.”

Not wanting to dwell on that, I ask, “What are our plans for this morning, early bird?”

He chuckles, but his face maintains its brooding expression. The more he lets down his guard and laughs, the more I notice how sad it sounds. It’s like you can still hear the pain rooted so deeply in him, no matter how free he is. “I thought I’d take you out to one of my favorite spots. Have a look at the sunrise?”

“That sounds perfect,” I grin.

“I also packed us breakfast. Luckily that doesn’t need to be kept warm.”

“Is my punctuality going to be a running joke for you?” I honestly kind of hope it will be.

“Probably.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, obviously stalling. “And how long will I be able to make fun of you for it?”

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