Every Other Weekend(127)

“You drove Daphne, stop and start, all of it, the whole way here without stalling once. This is my impressed face.”

My smile probably doesn’t touch my eyes. “I learned from the best.”

She grins. “Shut up, baby, I know it. And besides, that’s my line.” With one last pat of Daphne’s hood, she heads inside.

I’m halfway to the rink when the first lightning bolt forks in the distance, constricting the band of guilt in my chest. I look in my rearview mirror. In my mind, I see the familiar brick red truck on the side of the road—a truck I can’t believe I drove past without cold recognition icing over me—and the guy in a sweat-drenched white T-shirt having to walk miles back to town during a thunderstorm.

And I was laughing when he saw me.

Daphne doesn’t stall once as I turn around.