“And you’re out oftime.Let’s go.” We slide out of the booth and dart through the diner’s side exit, trying—and failing—not to giggle like teenage delinquents.
Right there in front of the diner is Landon’s matte black Rolls Royce, parked right where we left it when he drove us here.
“Don’t tell me you—” Jasmine starts.
I flash the key fob like a magic trick. “Heshouldn’twalk that close to a pickpocket.”
“You’reinsane.”
I shrug. “Youlikeit.”
She snorts. “Unfortunately.”
We climb into the car—her into the passenger seat, me into the driver’s like I’ve done it a thousand times. The engine hums awake like it knows it’s in the hands of a chaos demon.
Just as we’re pulling out, Landon explodes out of the diner, still on the phone. He freezes when he sees his car in motion, then starts sprinting toward us. “JASMINE!”
Jasmine rolls down the window just enough to shout, “You got to learn how to keep up, sweetheart!” before flicking him a wink.
He nearly trips over the curb. “Jasmine when I get my hands on you! Your ass ismine!”
But it’s too late. I hit the gas, laughing as we peel off down the road.
17
JASMINE
The drive ischaos in motion—windows down, music blasting, and Brooke singingBritney Spearslike her life depends on it. I match her energy, yellingParamorelyrics out the window and drumming my boots on the dashboard while she laughs and messes up every other lyric.
Every now and then, her fingers graze mine on the center console, light and teasing, like she’s not trying to set me on fire. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone this badlyandwanted to know all their little favorite things. I want to know everything about Brooke from how my name sounds on her lips when I’m between her legs to her favorite cereal as a child.
By the time we hit a winding dirt road lined with towering oaks, the world gets quieter—less like we’re driving and more like we’re being led somewhere. Brooke’s practically vibrating with excitement, her giddiness spilling into the air like static.
We pull up to a wide, open ranch that looks like it was carved straight from a dream. Rolling fields of golden grass stretch out under a sky so wide it makes you feel small. The fences are old but strong, weathered wood bleached soft by the sun. A big redbarn sits off to the side, flanked by pastures and a faded sign swinging gently in the breeze.
There’s dust in the air and sunlight everywhere, and for the first time, Brooke looks still. Like something inside her justclicked.
We roll up to a tan-brown house with a wraparound porch and hanging ferns, and she parks the car with a quiet exhale.
I lean forward, eyes wide. “Wherearewe?”
Brooke smiles, her voice soft. “Home.”
She’s practically glowing as we both hop out of the car, boots crunching over the gravel driveway, the air thick with the kind of late-summer heat that clings to your skin and smells like dry grass and open sky.
Brooke doesn’t wait for me to catch up—she spins in a slow, full circle with her arms stretched wide, head tipped back toward the fading sun like she’s soaking in every inch of it. For a second, she looks untouched by the world. Like this is the version of her no one else gets to see.
“This is where I spent every summer to train for horseback riding,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with that lopsided grin that’s starting to live rent-free in my chest. “ Just me, the dirt, and the horses. This is my safe haven.”
I follow her toward the stables, drawn in like gravity’s realigned itself to center on her. The house behind us is still, quiet. The porch light flickers like it knows it’s not needed tonight—the moon already climbing high, casting silver shadows across the fields. Everything around us glows with that soft twilight haze, the kind that makes me feel like I’ve stumbled into a dream I forgot I had.
She walks ahead, hips swaying, confidence soft but steady. I trail behind her, smiling at the way her soft curls bounce behind her, at the faint dust on her boots that clearly never left.
“I should warn you,” she says as we pass a fenced paddock where two horses graze lazily under the fading sun, “the horses here? They don’t take orders very well, but they’re sweethearts.”
“So... you,” I smirk.
She shoots me a look over her shoulder, all raised brow and hidden amusement. “Excuse you—Icantake orders very well, thank youverymuch.”
