He tosses me a warm smile as he lowers the music and sips from his travel mug. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, but it feels like there’s too much empty space. No texture.” I shrug. “Not enough sensory cues, I guess.”
Linc nods thoughtfully, as if he’s considering what I’ve said. “Let me think on it. I’ll talk with Manny and Vincent and see what options they present.”
The conversation lulls, and I scramble for something else to say, but soon we fall into that easy rhythm, snacking on popcorn and Sour Patch Kids. We talk about sports, books, documentaries, eighties Black sitcoms, swimming, beaches and waterfalls—you name it. But we carefully steer clear of anything wedding or Ellswood related.
It’s just the two of us, comfortably lost in each other’s company, the road stretching out before us, my house of cards quietly restacking.
And then a sea of red taillights flares in front of us.
“Accident reported ahead,”the GPS chimes, piercing through the calm.“Rerouting due to traffic. Follow the new path—”
“Nope.” I jolt upright, eyes wide, as Linc slows to a stop. I glance out the window at the thick, dark woods around us. “Absolutely not. This is how it happens.”
Linc drops his head back against the seat with a heavy sigh. The car goes still for a beat, the only sound the hum of the engine.
Then he bursts out laughing—genuinely, uncontrollably loud and hysterical. Most likely, because he’s been tossing back Sour Patch Kids for the past hour, and now it’s like the sugar rush just hit him. “Howwhathappens?”
“You seriously don’t see this?” My voice wavers slightly, and my heart thuds in my chest. “We’re stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, for who knows how long, with nothing but trees for miles, and now your British GPS is trying to send us down some random dirt road? This isexactlyhow every horror movie starts.”
“Oh, God, you’re killing me.” He laughs even harder, gasping for air. “But I’mdefinitelynot driving down some random road.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You think I’m overreacting, but I’m telling you, this isexactlyhow it goes.” I throw my hands up. “A fun little road trip gets detoured, then we’re hacked to pieces by some creepy guy with a chainsaw.”
Linc’s laugh reaches a whole new decibel level. “But you’re the final girl, the scream queen! You make it out alive.”
I turn away, folding my arms, adrenaline pumping through me. My eyes are on the trees, though. Just in case.
Linc leans closer, his voice softening as he pries my hand free, intertwining our fingers, gently lifting them to his lips. “Ebony,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin, “you really think I’ve waited this long to be with you, and I’m going to let some creepy woods or a serial killer stop me from…this?”
I glance at him, my lips twitching despite myself. The absurdity of the moment—the sincerity in his eyes and the vulnerability in his voice—hits me all at once, and my heart aches. The world outside the car disappears for a second, and it’s just us.
The air between us crackles.
“All jokes aside—and hopefully, whatever’s going on up ahead, everyone’s okay—I’m glad that we’re stuck here,” he says softly, almost too quiet. “That I get more time with you. It feels like…”
“Like what?” I ask, suddenly desperate to know this rush of longing isn’t one-sided.
My heart thunders in my chest. No detail is too small or insignificant.
I need this to be real.
He takes a breath, tightening his fingers around mine, and presses our clasped hands to his chest like he’s grounding himself in the moment. “Okay, I think it’s safe to assume we both love movies, right? But what if this isn’t one of those final-girl stories? What if this is the other version of us, the one where we made different choices, and now we’re seeing what might happen if we choose each other?”
I stare at him, heart in my throat, trying to wrap my mind around dual timelines and parallel universes. Two divergent paths but one moment—one choice—changes everything.
What if we were supposed to be here all along? What if this is the version of our lives that was meant to be?
“You’re saying…we’re like the alternate timeline of our lives?” I ask.
He exhales deeply, like the weight of everything he’s been holding in is finally released. “Exactly. I know what my life was like without you in it. And now I’m excited to find out what it’s like with you in it.”
For a moment, everything else fades. The trees, the detour, even the absurdity of our being stuck in the middle of nowhere—it all slips away. All I can feel is the truth in his words, the quiet intensity behind them.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath, “let's see what happens.”
Before long, the traffic ahead starts to move, and Linc eases off the gas, proceeding to the route. But as the forest clears, the rolling hills sweep across the horizon, and our easy silence returns, Linc’s GPS isn’t done with us yet.
