In Little Memphis, Clove’s and my chemistry changes. I’m no longer the man she treats like the help, and she’s no longer the smoking-hot woman with the icy heart. Clove knows there’s a limit to the shit I’ll take from her, and I understand Clove is running from old demons. We might not have gained much on the business side of the trip, but the need between us intensifies.

Clove and I ride back to Rawlins without stopping for lunch. A woman on a mission, she barely acknowledges me until we near city limits. Then she gestures toward an upcoming exit with a few fast food places. I follow her toward the off-ramp, but she signals for me to take the lead and pick where to eat. I smile at how she doesn’t dominate every decision like before we left Rawlins.

We stop at a Waffle House where Clove frowns at the menu for nearly five minutes.

“Want to eat somewhere else?” I finally ask.

“I’m not much of a cook.”

“Oh, they cook the food for you here.”

Wrapping her long hair into a messy ponytail, Clove smirks. “I want you to invite me over to your tiny house, but I don’t think you want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“When I came by that day, you seemed pissed to have me in your place.”

“I’m a private man,” I say, and her smile grows. Clove knows I’m lying. Her exotic brown eyes shine with amusement, but I also notice the fatigue in them. Maybe even fear. “I guess I like your place better,” I finally mutter when our food arrives, and our silence creeps into my bones. “It’s like stepping into your mind and seeing how you want the world to be.”

Clove studies my face before hiding behind her hands. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I do know I can’t eat until she settles down. Hell, I can barely breathe when she looks so miserable.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Peering from behind her hands, Clove sighs deeply. “I fell apart at the batting cages. Cried like a wimp in front of people I don’t know. It’s left me feeling exposed. I guess vulnerable is a better word. I feel judged too. Showing weakness in front of others has never sat well with me.”

“Everyone feels weak. There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, Shay and Bebe don’t seem like the kind of women to judge you for having a bad day.”

“I never cry, though. I didn’t even cry when we found Yarrow, and she was all fucked up, and everyone else was emotional. I felt bad inside, of course, seeing her like that, but I didn’t cry. I never even have the urge to cry. I told myself I was just cold inside, but now I’m crying over nothing. So what does that say about me not crying over an enslaved girl?”

“You found Yarrow three years ago, right?” When Clove nods, I go on, “You’re a different woman than you were then.”

“Yeah, because I had a purpose in Little Memphis. In Rawlins, I don’t.”

“Isn’t your living your life purpose enough?”

“I guess,” she mutters, clearly disagreeing with me. “When was the last time you cried?”

Scratching at my beard, I think back over my life. “I’m nearing my twenty-ninth birthday. The last time I recall crying was back when my mom died.”

“How old were you then?”

“Fifteen.”

“So you haven’t cried in over a decade.”

“I think I cried on the anniversaries of her death for a few years, but not really like I cried when she first died.”

Ignoring her food, Clove studies my face. “Did you see her... like when she was dying? Did she die at your house?”

“No. I was at school, and she was at work. I guess she took a few pills during lunch and went into cardiac arrest in the restroom. She was dead when they found her.”

“You never got to say goodbye.”

“No,” I say, searching my memories for my mother’s face. I don’t remember her well except for the frozen smiles in the photos I have in a small album. The real her faded long ago into the back of my mind.

“What would you say if you could?”

“Are you trying to get me to cry?”

Clove grins. “I wouldn’t know what to do if you started wailing like a wimp. I’d probably run away and hope the waitress was a good hugger.”

“You wouldn’t run away,” I tell her and take a bite of my waffle. “You might feel weak right now, but you aren’t weak.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lifting my gaze to hold hers, I ask, “Do you really want me to invite you over?”

“Yeah, but I also want to hide in my house for the next hundred years. Is it possible to do both?”

“I’d rather spend the night at your place.”

“Why?”

“Your bed is more comfortable. I’m also training your cat to get excited to see me.”

Clove reaches across the table and takes my hand. “If I asked you to move in, would you?”

“You don’t want me to move into your place.”

Pulling her hand back, she frowns. “I might. My feelings for you are evolving.”

“Let them keep evolving, and we’ll talk about it again in a few weeks.”

“Because you don’t want to live at my place or because you don’t want to give up your place?”

“Neither. You’re not yourself right now.”

“I want you close,” she says, and the words leave my heart beating so damn hard I think I’ll puke.

“Why?”

“Because you saw me cry and didn’t make fun of me.”

“The crew wouldn’t make fun of you either.”

Clove rolls her eyes and takes a bite of her chicken sandwich. “You are mistaken, my sexy friend. So very mistaken.”

“Noted, but I still don’t think you and I are ready to live together.”

“But you’ll stay with me tonight?”

“Of course. I’m hardcore into you, Clove Jones.”

Smiling, she hands me a fry. “Does anyone call you Louis?”

“My dad does. My stepmom calls me Louie.”

Clove shakes her head, and I sense she wants to tell me something. She remains silent instead, and we finish our meal in silence. I catch her grinning at me, though. Despite knowing the reason behind her sudden clinginess, I can’t get enough of her loving glances and sweet smiles.