Page 168 of Wild Card 13

Lucy pulled out her phone.

“I’ll drive you,” I stammered immediately.

She didn’t look up. “No.”

“Your car’s at the arena.”

“I know. I’m taking an Uber.”

“I can take you to your car.”

“Ty.”

The way she said my name should have stopped me. But I pressed on, “I’m already here.”

“So is the Uber.”

“You ordered it already?”

I stepped closer as she finished confirming the ride. Close enough that the snow caught between us and melted in the heat coming off my skin.

Behind us, Matt’s hummed through the walls. Ahead of us, the street glowed soft and quiet under fresh snow. My family’s truck engine turned over at the curb, then pulled away, taillights disappearing into the white.

Lucy and I were alone. Fully. Finally.

Her curls had loosened during dinner. A few pieces framed her face now, damp at the ends from melted snow. Her glasses hadfogged slightly when we first stepped outside, then cleared. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, or the night, or maybe from me if I let myself be stupid enough to hope.

“You had fun,” I offered.

She looked toward the street. “Your family is hard to refuse.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

Her mouth tightened like she wanted to fight me and couldn’t find the energy. “Yes,” she admitted. “I had fun.”

My chest pulled tight.

It should have been enough.

It was not.

That was the problem with getting pieces of Lucy back. Every piece made me want the next one.

The Uber icon moved closer on her screen. Two minutes away.

I reached for her coat, giving her enough time to pull back. She didn’t. My hands found the lapels, tugging them gently into place the way Grandma Ruth had done ten minutes earlier, except nothing about this felt grandmotherly.

Lucy went very still.

My knuckles brushed the soft wool near her collarbone. The contact was nothing. Fabric and cold air and the space between things.

My body reacted like it was everything.

Her breath caught.

There it was.

Not in my head. Not wishful thinking. Not old memory making a fool out of me.