Page 78 of Darlin'

"And it's just a short little thing?" I ask. "Or should I expect more bullet wounds upon return?"

Jesse snorts. "I think it'll be a fairly friendly visit."

"You wouldn't lie to me now, would you, darlin'?" I ask, giving him a cheeky grin.

Jesse stiffens. "You don't trust me?"

"Not as far as I can throw you," I joke, but it doesn't land. The joke hovers in the air growing heavy between our bodies, and I regret my words. Tentatively, I reach out and place my hand on top of his. It's colder than usual and more strained. Like he's gripping something hard to hold. "Of course, I trust you, Jesse. And you know why?" A honeysuckle smile spreads on my face as I stroke his fingers. "Cause you trust me...right?"

Jesse swallows, his conflicted gaze dancing around my hopeful features. He opens his mouth, but nothing slips from his guarded tongue except a breath of exhaustion.

"I've got some things I need to finish up here," he says, clearing his throat and pulling his hand away from mine. "Thanks for the food."

"Anytime," I say, slowly standing up, my tummy dull from his dismissal. "Will you uh—will you be here when I get back?"

"Don't think so," he says, checking his phone. "Boys wanna leave within the hour."

"Oh, okay," I hum, dragging my feet toward the door. His tone, his body language, the way he's looking at me, everything is setting off red flags. Alarms.Stop. Turn around. Danger. Hurt up ahead. Do I listen? Do I proceed with caution? "I'll umm..." Or do I be brave? Be hopeful? Be the version of myself that I like the most? "I'll miss you."

For a split second, Jesse's eyes shine like the highest carat diamonds, every twinkle a profession of his innermost thoughts. But just like that, as if they've shown too much, they revert back to lumps of coal, awaiting the day to become something priceless.

"I'll miss you too, princess," he says in a tone meant for acquaintances and store clerks. He manages a tiny smile; whether it's genuine or not, I cannot say. "Be safe, okay?"

From who? You? Or Miguel?

"Always am."

As I enter Rosenfeld Park,a humid gust of August wind blows through my hair. Shoes in hand, my bare feet bounce against the blades of green grass as I notice Miguel pacing in the middle of the activity lawn. It's odd seeing him wearing shorts and an athletic t-shirt. I washalf expecting him to do the Sun Salutation draped in Armani.

With a couple of families having picnics and children climbing around the playground, my fear of imminent death or kidnapping dissipates enough for me to call out his name.

"Miguel!" I holler, throwing my hand up in the air. "Hi! Sorry, I'm late." I adjust the tote bag Pippa lent me, one of the yoga mats poking out and jabbing me in the ear. "Had to make a quick stop on my way."

"It's not a problem," Miguel says, removing his sunglasses. He looks down the path I came from. "Anyone else joining us?"

Remember, there are people around. Act normal. Be cool.

"Nope.” I drop the bag on the ground and kneel. "Which color do you want?" I hold up two yoga mats. "Pink or..." I double-check the color, cringing. "Hot pink?"

"Hot pink. Why not?" Miguel chuckles, taking the hot pink mat from my hand and rolling it out on the grass as I set up my own. "So? What now?"

"Well, I think it's best if we first start off with some stretches," I say, taking a couple of steps back. "Just follow my lead, and we'll loosen up them muscles." I begin with my stretch routine, Miguel following along. "You ever done yoga before?"

"I'm more of weights and cardio type of guy," Miguel says. "But I've heard yoga has many benefits."

"It does." I beam, twisting my torso. "Not only is it a great body workout, but it helps with the mind too. Not that I'm an expert or anything, I've got no formal training,but I've probably taken a hundred classes in my life, so I think semi-qualified for this little lesson here."

Miguel chuckles. "Sometimes experience is better than education."

"Right?" I bend down and touch my toes, swaying from side to side. "One of my friends back home is getting a degree in social media marketing, and I told her that given the amount of time she spends online, she probably doesn't even need a degree to get a job."

"So you're in school?" Miguel asks as we work on our hamstrings.

"Almost done," I say. "I've got one semester left. Starts in September."

"What are you taking?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. “General Arts. I know, right? Everyone says it’s a useless degree. But my momma said it doesn't matter what I major in 'cause I'm never gonna have to work, so why choose a hard one."

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