I nod. Everything is better with him. “Thanks for that. But this is yours.”
He shrugs. “We can share it.”
He takes his own sip, and my stomach somersaults. Which is absurd. A shared drink does not mean anything. But it’s the way the give and take is so natural with Mack that sets my nerve-endings rattling. I wonder if he feels it too.
He puts the coffee back down, wipes his hand on his jeans, and reverses out of the driveway, heading the opposite direction of the lower district. I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I feel completely safe. I roll down my window with the hand crank on the door and stick my arm out into the rushing air.
Mack’s radio is turned off, and tonight, neither of us makes a move to turn it on. It’s him and me and the open road. Maybe I should feel awkward or self-conscious around him. But I don’t. It’s Mack. And it’s me. I’ve never put my best foot forward where he’s concerned, and yet, somehow, he enjoys my company.
Once we’re outside the town limits, he side-eyes me. “You want to talk about it?”
I reach forward and take another swig of coffee before leaning my head against the headrest. “I ruined Party in the Park.”
He lets out a disbelieving huff.
“I’m not exaggerating,” I insist. “Heather warned me about getting the porta-potties taken care of early in the summer, but it slipped down on my list, and I’ve called everyone, and no one has units available.”
“Units?”
“Like those individual little stalls. Toilet units. I don’t know? What the heck are they called?” I fling my gaze in his direction to find him biting back a smirk. “Glad you’re enjoying this,” I grumble. “I should have known toilets would be my downfall. Toilet explosions. Porta-potty disasters. Everything’s gone to pot for me.”
Mack laughs outright at this, and I want to laugh too, but I feel traitorous tears burning in the corners of my eyes. I suck in a shuddering breath because I do not want to cry in front of him over freaking porta-potties.
“Hey. Hey,” he says. “Boo, are you crying?”
I bury my head in my hands. “No. Don’t look at me. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m crying about toilets. But it’s more than that, you know?” A sob escapes. “I wanted to do this job well. To prove to Heather, and to everyone, and to myself that I deserved it. That I didn’t get the position because of Holland. Now it’s all falling apart. I know I’m leaving anyway, but still. I’d like to go out on a high note.”
Mack reaches out and takes one of my hands off my face.
“Don’t! I’m all snotty,” I wail.
He squeezes my fingers and holds my hand in the center seat, driving in silence and letting me cry.
After I’m not sure how long, he pulls over. I take my hand back and pull the visor down. My eyes are red and puffy, and I try to wipe the mascara streaks from my cheeks before turning to face Mack.
“Feel better?”
I offer him a wobbly smile. “Actually, yeah. Thanks.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
I scoot over and lay my head on his shoulder. I’m not sure when Mack and I crossed over into having a touchy-feely friendship, but if he can hold my hand in his truck, then I can do this.
“You did,” I say. I take my first real look out the windshield and gasp. “Where are we?”
“The middle of a wheat farm field.”
Everywhere I look is golden. There’s no water in sight, so Mack must have driven me to the center of the Cashmere County peninsula.
The wheat stalks are blowing in the breeze, swaying as one, giant dancer. The sun hasn’t quite dipped below the horizon. It hangs like a glowing ball of orange right at eye-level.
“It’s a nice spot to watch the sunset,” Mack says, reading my mind.
“It’s beautiful.” I rest my head back on his shoulder, and we sit in silence. The windows are rolled down, and the cross breeze ruffles my hair. “Sorry again for falling apart. It’s not just about the porta-potties.” I blow out a breath. “My dad texted.”
Mack shifts, so I have to sit upright and face him. “Are you okay?”
I shrug.
