Page 116 of The Long Way Home
“As if I was even helping,” I say. “I’m moral support.”
“You’re distracting support.”
“I like to think that’s the best kind.”
“I’m not going to argue with that.” He turns back to the stove, flipping the pancakes with practiced ease. “But I do have to be at work in about an hour. So we are on a tight schedule.”
I groan dramatically. “Already? But I feel like I just got you.”
“Welcome to my life,” he says. “Which is why I’m going to need you to eat quickly. I have a couple more things I want to do before I leave.”
“Is that a threat or a promise you plan on keeping?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark with something playful. “Depends on how cooperative you plan on being.”
I laugh, warmth blooming low in my chest. “You say that like I’ve ever been cooperative.”
“Fair point,” he says, sliding a pancake onto a plate and setting it in front of me. “Good thing you’re usually worth the trouble.”
Something in his tone settles me. A part of me still can’t quite comprehend he and I are having this conversation. But the other part of me feels like we have always been doing this.
He nudges my knee gently with his own. “Hey,” he says, softer now. “Don’t disappear into your head on me.”
I hesitate, then look up. “I wasn’t—”
“I know,” he says. “But I can feel it when you start to spiral.”
My chest pulls, but in a way that feels seen, not exposed.
“I’ll be off tomorrow morning,” he continues. “And when I am, we can talk about everything on the drive down to the lake. All of it. No rushing. Every thought, every emotion, every fear.”
I study his face, searching for doubt, for hesitation. I don’t find it.
“You promise?” I ask quietly.
“I promise, Sunny.”
Relief loosens something inside me. I take a bite of pancake, finally tasting it.
“Okay,” I say.
His smile returns. “Good. Now eat. We’ve got plans. And I need you to have your energy.”
Rhett leaves with a kiss pressed to my hairline and with a promise to text me when he is off shift. I watch him go, barefoot in my kitchen, wearing his shirt and smelling like him. The joy inside me feels enormous.
Dangerously enormous. Too bright for a girl who is used to the dark.
I inhale, steadying myself. No time to linger. No time to overthink.
I need to grab a few things for the lake trip—snacks, drinks, sunscreen, all the practical things that keep a weekend afloat. Something simple. Something my brain can handle.
So I grab my keys, lock the door behind me, and step into the day.
The grocery store is half-busy, humming with carts and low music. I’m floating, drifting through the aisles with a scribbled list and Rhett’s warmth still clinging to my skin.
I pass produce. Snacks. The baking aisle where some little kid is begging for confetti icing.
My cart fills without much thought: chips Rhett likes, wine for Margo, some overpriced trail mix I’ll pretend is for the group but is absolutely for me.
