She looked into his eyes, her heart pounding. What did she remember? Is that what he wanted to know? Her eyes shifted to the pavement, where the “I dare you” in the question didn’t feel quite so loud. “Not much,” she said softly.

He flashed one of his panty dropping smiles and adjusted his stance. “Well that’s good.”

She titled her head to the side. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” He tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and relaxed. “I don’t remember much about you, either. This trip would have been extremely awkward had you remembered me.” He looked to the open trunk and moved his suitcase over a few inches. “The good news is, we have three thousand miles to change all that.”

Her heart pinched at his easy grin and she adjusted her stance. It shouldn’t have affected her. Especially when he’d confessed to not remembering her just the second before, but he was so damned attractive she couldn’t help it. The reaction was much like her mouth watering at the scent of a lemon, or her nose retreating when she smelled something foul. It was one of those involuntary actions she had no control over.

But she still didn’t like it.

Especially when she knew what happened when you got too close to Tristan Montgomery.

She looked back toward the sculpture, trying to regain composure. “I have a lot of reading to catch up on,” she said sweetly, then turned toward the sculpture and squatted down to get ready to lift. “I’m afraid getting to know you isn’t one of my top priorities.”

He grinned slightly, raising his brows as he grabbed the other end. “Suit yourself,” he replied, lifting, and moving the sculpture toward the trunk. But then his eyes narrowed, as though he was aware the tension between them was not one of strangers.

She followed after him, ready to be rid of this task, and on the road.

* * *

An hour later, her hair whipping around like the tail of rattlesnake, Samantha dug through her oversized bag looking for a hair tie. The top of the convertible was down, blowing her hair in every which direction, but Tristan didn’t seem to notice. His arm was braced out the open window, his aviator glasses darkening his eyes, but the rest of his expression looked very much like a man who didn’t give a shit.

She heaved a heavy sigh, hoping he’d hear it and take the hint. That he’d sense her annoyance and close the top. But he seemed oblivious, caught up in his own thoughts—his own world. They’d loaded the rest of her belongings without much hassle. Filling the trunk and half of the back seat with luggage, garment bags, and pillows. But they hadn’t spoken at all, beyond what was necessary. Which was just fine with her. She didn’t want to talk to Tristan. He was her means of getting from point A to point B. To bring her sculpture to Renee on her wedding day. That was it.

Samantha finally found a tie at the bottom of the bag and began braiding her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes focused on the horizon as she tried to settle herself down.

Traffic was light, which allowed them to fly down the highway. She kicked off her shoes and dragged one leg into her lap before slouching forward to retrieve her audiobook. It was impossible to find comfort. To be at ease sitting next to the man who’d stolen her first kiss. Her mind had been spinning ever since the moment she first saw him. Because the night she’d come home from the cabin, she’d made a vow. To forget Tristan Montgomery, to forget the kiss that had rocked her harder than an earthquake—and to never tell Renee her secret.

She’d been successful for the most part. Because most of the time she pretended he didn’t exist, and it worked. Except for those tiny moments, when a lingering snippet would sneak into her subconscious. Triggered by the oddest things: a falling star, a twig floating in a puddle of water, or even the scent of winter-mint gum. She’d always been able to stuff it down again, as effortlessly as pulling a wily hair. But now the subject of her reverie was sitting beside her, completely silent, yet very much present.

She opened her eyes and glared at his profile, unable to keep her gaze from lingering. His nose was crooked—not badly, but almost in a Matthew McConaughey kind of way. His jaw was square—chiseled, with a shadow of scruff that hadn’t been there last she’d seen him.

His hair was lighter now. Probably from driving around with the top down like this. It was about two shades darker than her own. Not brown or blond, but that shade right in between where she knew he must have been a towhead when he was little. But it was his mouth she couldn’t pull her eyes from. The soft, full shape she still remembered to this day.

She closed her eyes and turned back to window. She’d be kidding herself if she said he wasn’t handsome. He was honestly one of the best looking men she’d ever seen in her life. Strong features, strong body, bronzed skin, which only made his blue eyes more vibrant. But handsome wouldn’t be the first word she’d use to describe Tristan Montgomery. Big. That would be the word. Not big in size. Though yes, he was over six feet tall—much larger than Samantha’s five-foot-two-inch frame. But it was his sheer presence that made up the volume, more powerful than the roar of the mustang below them. More expansive than the wind blowing in her face.

But he didn’t remember. His words kept whirling in Samantha’s mind. The kiss that had been her first, which she’d unwillingly compared with every other kiss she’d had since, was too insignificant to take up his brain space. She leaned forward again, retrieved her laptop out of her bag, and sat it on her lap. She needed to write, to focus on anything but the man who sat beside her.

Her narrative was a diary of sorts, the way to get things out of her head so she could let them go.

Dear Renee,

She began as she always did—though Renee rarely ever received them. Samantha had hundreds of messages like this, if not thousands. Some were letters of excitement and joy, others fears and anxiety. But many were confessions. Too many. They were unedited, unanswered, unsent. Letters from a teenage girl who was confused, heartbroken, and needing someone to talk to. Letters from a drunken newly twenty-one-year-old woman, who for some reason was thinking of Tristan when on a romantic getaway with her boyfriend.

I can’t wait to see you! To see you in your wedding dress. To hug you!

I can’t wait to catch up on all you’ve been doing since leaving LA. I know we’ve talked nearly every day, but it’s different when I can see your face. I’ve missed you so much. So much more than I can say in this letter. So much—that I find myself sitting next to your brother for the next four days.

He says he doesn’t remember me; is that even possible? That he couldn’t remember the girl who was at his house more often than her own? But I guess that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he showed up, and that I’m on my way to see you.

I miss you! I miss your stinky ballet shoes! I even miss tripping over your dance bag you always left by the front door. I miss us sitting on the couch, binge watching Netflix. I worry we’ll never do that again…

I know it’s silly, but I always pictured us growing old together. You’d live next door and come over to borrow sugar. But you’d stay awhile…so our babies would crawl on the living room floor together.

We’d go to cocktail parties, see romcom movies because our husbands never wanted to go. We’d always give them a hard time, but secretly we’d love it. Because it would be like old times, like sitting under blankets watching Netflix…

* * *

Maple syrup dripped from the bite of waffle held midair on Samantha’s fork. A sea of breakfast foods covered the plate in front of her: waffles, eggs, toast. But she’d neglected to take a bite of any of it. Breakfast wasn’t her favorite meal on any given morning, but today the food was especially unappealing.

She’d tossed and turned all night long, barely able to get more than an hour’s rest. Her stomach was rolling with anxiety and guilt. The feeling that still lingered now. It was guilt over kissing Tristan, but also about holding back the truth from Renee. Samantha and Renee shared everything with each other. Everything. Last night was the first time in their Nine-year friendship that Samantha had gone to bed knowing she hadn’t told her friend the truth.

Samantha’s mom had once told her that the secret to a happy life was never going to bed knowing you’d been dishonest. At the time, she’d thought her mom was trying to convince her to confess about the cookies she’d stolen from the pantry, but the advice haunted her last night. Because an untold truth felt an awful lot like a lie. Like stolen cookies leaving a sour taste in the bottom of her stomach.

Tristan sat directly in front of her now, though she hadn’t looked up once. She felt bad ignoring him, because in spite of how upset she was about Renee, last night had been one of the best of her life. She was just afraid. Afraid that if she met his eyes again, even for a second, everyone in the house would know he’d taken a piece of her heart last night. They’d see the confusion whirling in her brain. Because last night she’d gone out with a boy, knowing he was the one she hated, but in just a few hours he’d made her question everything she’d believed for years.

It was like finding out Santa wasn’t real, and then playing each moment you’d sat in his lap over and over, wondering how you could’ve not known. The fake beard, the constant change in appearance, the fact he would wear such a warm suit in the middle of summer at the fourth of July parade. Being with Tristan had shattered her sense of self, her trust in her own judgment and everything she thought she knew about everyone. She found herself piecing memories of Tristan together, trying to make sense of it all, but then pulling them apart again because it never did. Because he wasn’t a dumb jock that hurt everyone like she’d always thought. That was a lie, and if anything, those lies had hurt him.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Montgomery’s voice called from the other side of the table.

Samantha startled from her thoughts, uncrossed her feet from under the table, and glanced down the row of chairs to her best friend’s mother. Mrs. Montgomery’s gold hair was tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head, her long neck poised elegantly as she sipped from a large mug of coffee.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Samantha forced a small smile and shoved the piece of waffle into her mouth. “Just tired.”

Mrs. Montgomery grinned, but only half-heartedly. “I hope Renee didn’t keep you up all night with her coughing. I’m afraid this trip hasn’t been much fun for you, has it?”

Samantha shook her head. “Oh no, it’s been great.” She swallowed her food. “And it wasn’t Renee. I was up late…” She cleared her throat. “Reading.”

Tristan made a small sound from across the table, but Samantha ignored him, not daring to look up for fear everyone would see her blushing.

Mrs. Montgomery turned to say something to Mr. Montgomery, never seeming to notice her discomfort, and eventually went back to reading her newspaper.

The plan had been to leave right after breakfast, and Samantha couldn’t wait for it. She was anxious for the departure, anxious to be back at the Montgomerys’ so she could talk to Renee privately. She needed to tell her what happened. To confess—and clear her dirty conscience of the kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about. But she couldn’t do it here, not knowing they’d be stuck in a car for five hours back to LA. She’d tell her when they got home, as soon as she got her alone, no matter how difficult it was.

A creak sounded from the other side of the room and Samantha turned around. Renee stood on the very top of the staircase, her hair a tangled and unbrushed mess, held high by a yellow scrunchy on top of her head.

“Well if it isn’t my little ball of sunshine!” Mr. Montgomery shouted. “It’s good to see you out of bed and alive.”

Renee croaked out a word that sounded something like “morning,” then came down the steps, and crossed the distance to pull out a chair next to Samantha.

“How do you feel, honey?” Mrs. Montgomery asked, as Renee sat beside her.

“Better,” she answered, reaching across the table for the platter of waffles. “Do we have any orange juice?”

Everyone began passing plates and pitchers. Chatting about everything and nothing, as Samantha stuffed her face with maple-covered waffles and bacon. She hoped that if she kept her mouth full for long enough, everyone would forget she was there and not ask questions.

The plan almost worked. Until she excused herself to the kitchen. She entered the tiny room, placed her plate into the sink, then braced her hands on either side of the counter, her eyes fixed on the dark, ominous sky that had rolled in overnight. It was like a message from God, punishing her for all her wrongdoings. “I see you, God. I know what you’re up to, and I don’t like it!”

“What was that?”

Samantha whipped around, finding Tristan standing in the doorway with an empty plate. He moved toward her, deposited his dish in the full sink, then rested his hip on the counter beside her. Although he said nothing, there was heaviness between them that told her there was much on his mind. He looked at her, his mouth still, but his eyes full of questions. Questions that both scared and excited her. Questions she wasn’t sure she could answer.

She turned back toward the window, unable to face him any longer, and picked up a kitchen rag and began twisting it between her fingers. “About last night,” she began. “I’m going to tell Renee everything.” She nodded. “As soon as we get home.”

He adjusted his stance, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could tell he wasn’t happy. “It’s none of her business, Sam.”

She closed her eyes, opening them a second later to shake her head. “But it is. You’re her brother and I’m her best friend. Renee and I tell each other everything, and it’s killing me she doesn’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She turned to face him, her heart pounding.

“Yeah.”

His eyes softened, and she immediately stepped backward. “What does that mean?”

“It means if you want to tell her, that’s fine with me.”

She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him into the pantry. “Why?” she whispered. “You’ve known me for nine years, yet last night was the first time you ever noticed me. Why?”

His brows furrowed and he looked into her eyes. “I’ve always noticed you, Sam.”

She swallowed, her hands flat against his chest, her back straining against the shelf that held all the canned goods, but all she could think about was kissing him again.

He chuckled, deep and coarse, but with a hint of something she didn’t understand. The action caused the dimple on his left side to sink into his cheek—and somehow make him look more handsome. His hands rested on the top of her arms, moving up and down in a way that made her lose her breath.

“You’re crazy,” he finally said. “All this time I thought you were this cute, nerdy girl who spent too much time reading.”

She licked her lips. “You thought I was cute?”

“Yes.” He laughed again. “Look, as much as I like being close to you, sooner or later someone’s going to come in here and find us in the pantry.”

Her eyes bulged and she turned to peek through the crack in the door. He was right. If Renee found her in the pantry with Tristan, there would be no explaining it. Nothing left to do but tell her the honest-to-God truth right there in the kitchen. She pushed him out the double doors, intending to follow right after him, but Mrs. Montgomery walked into the kitchen at that moment.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “Have you seen Samantha?”

Tristan laced his hands behind his head and shrugged. “Nope.” But it was not convincing. Not one tiny bit.

Mrs. Montgomery’s brows furrowed, and she looked over his shoulder. She turned back and tilted her head to the side as though she knew something was up. “Your father’s packing up the van and wanted to know if your suitcase was ready to be loaded.”

Tristan stepped forward and placed his arm around his mother’s shoulder. “Not yet, but I’ll do that right now.”

She looked up at him and smiled a knowing smile. “Son, why do you look so guilty?”

He laughed, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling before escorting her from the kitchen. “That’s just my face, Mom.”

“Uh, huh.” She laughed, but a moment later they were both gone, walking arm in arm into the living room.

Samantha pulled in a much-needed breath and slouched against the pantry shelves. She needed to get out of there before she was caught, but it was another few minutes before she felt comfortable enough to make the first step. She quickly checked her reflection in the kitchen window, hoping she didn’t look too flustered, and walked out to the dining room as quickly as she could.

Tristan was standing by the couch folding his clothes, but stopped as soon as he saw her. She reluctantly walked toward him, aware someone could walk into the room at any moment. “Don’t tell, okay?” she whispered without stopping. It was a juvenile request, but it was the best she had, given her time constraints.

He grinned slightly, making her heart squeeze with uncertainty. Because she was at his mercy, he held all the cards, and she was simply the joker in his pocket.

“It’s our little secret,” he replied, picking up the last folded shirt and placing it on top of his clothes in the suitcase before zipping it shut. He grabbed hold of the handle and threw it up to his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, but before she reached the top of the stairs, she turned around and looked back to the living room. He still had his suitcase lifted to the top of his shoulder, his hair shining from the sunlight that came in through the opened door, and she thought he might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.

* * *

“What are you writing?” Tristan asked, his voice breaking through the silence of the Mustang.

Samantha’s heart lurched in her chest and she slapped the laptop closed. She turned to face him, panic in her face as she tried to comprehend his words. “What was that?” She put her feet on the floor, wishing the top was still down so she could stand and clear her head, but she was trapped. Trapped with the only other man she’d ever kissed besides Steven.

He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember any of it. The thought should have comforted her, but it did nothing. It did nothing at all.

He lifted his chin to her laptop, likely curious by her odd behavior. “What are you writing?” he asked again. “You’ve been staring at your laptop for over an hour.”

She cleared her throat. “Have I?” But her voice pitched a little higher than usual and she took a drink of water. “I was just…thinking.”

“About?”

She bit her bottom lip and glanced out the window. “About Renee.” It was a lie, but it sounded reasonable enough.

He immediately nodded, but took his sunglasses from his face and threw them to the dashboard. “Tell me about it.” But there was a tone in his voice that caught her attention—he was worried about something—what? She wasn’t sure.

Samantha’s shoulders relaxed a little and she leaned forward to put her laptop away. “She moved to New York only last November, and now she’s getting married. It’s all happening so fast…” Her words trailed off, because she’d already said more than she intended. She hadn’t talked to anyone about Renee since she heard the news. Even Steven, because he was never interested in anything to do with her best friend’s life. But why she felt compelled to talk to Tristan baffled her.

“I guess they’re in love,” he said, causing her heart to lurch before she turned around again.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Have you met him?”

“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder, changing lanes, then met her eyes for the first time the whole trip. “A couple of months ago. He’s a good guy, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He didn’t say more, and she didn’t press it. She turned toward the window and adjusted her seat belt. Nervous flutters beat against the inside of her stomach, but she took a deep breath, and tried to ignore them.

“What about you?” he asked. “Are you in love?”

She squared her shoulders, surprised as hell by the question. She hated relationship talk. Hated people butting into her love life… But she lifted her head and looked him dead in the eye, almost asking him to challenge her. “Yes. Actually, I am.”

He squinted slightly and reached up to pull down the sun visor. “And where is your knight in shining armor?”

There it was. The judgment that was unmistakable. She turned to the window, hating the way it made her feel. Because it made her feel insecure. Made her feel slightly angry with Steven for the first time since he’d told her about his internship. She pulled in a deep breath and tried to sound confident. “Work,” she confessed, her stomach dropping a few inches.

“Well that’s unfortunate,” Tristan stated, but there was a tone in his voice that almost sounded like he was pissed off.

She turned back around, slightly confused. “How so?” she questioned, disturbed by the fact she’d been so consumed with the conversation she hadn’t realized they’d pulled off the freeway.

He pulled into a parking space, pushed down the emergency brake, then turned to face her, his expression hard. “His priorities are in the wrong place.”

She shook her head, uncomfortable with the lecture-like tone he was using. Her chest inflated and she grew a little taller in her seat. “He landed one of the most coveted positions of his graduating class. I would say his priorities are right where they need to be.”

Tristan shrugged, unbuckled his seat belt, and got out of the car. “If it were me, there would be no way I’d let the woman I was in love with drive cross-country with a man I’d never met.” He slammed the door behind him and moved in the direction of the restaurant.

“Where are you going?” she shouted through the rolled-down window.

“To eat,” he said without turning around.

“But I have snacks!”

He shook his head, almost laughing. “You eat your snacks, Sam. I’m getting a burger.” But before he opened the door to walk inside, he turned and retraced his steps almost reluctantly. He ducked down, looking at her through the passenger window. “Join me if you want,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Or don’t. Your choice.” He flashed her one of his first-class smiles, then stood up and walked inside, leaving her stomach filled with butterflies, and the sudden urge to call her boyfriend.