Page 62 of Say You'll Never Let Go

“Maybe we’ll go one day.”

He huffs. “Sure, a little sidequest on our way to California?”

“Why not? Seeing what’s left out there doesn’t sound so bad if we do it together.” He considers her comment for far too long, and far too seriously for her comfort, so she distracts him rather than confirm that she’d leave this all behind tomorrow if they could simply ride off into the sunset. “Bake something with me? I want something sweet. It’s a crime not to take advantage of all this fancy electricity.”

“You’ve been hungry all day,” he teases.

“For cake.”

“Cake, huh? We got stuff for that?”

“I think we do. I may or may not have seen some boxed mix in the pantry. I don’t think that ever expires.”

“Alright, let’s make some cake. Can I lick the spoon?”

“The spoon is mine.”

“I’ll fight you for it.”

“I’ll still win.”

* * *

It’s a warm evening when she pops a random CD into the player and pulls out mixing bowls and ingredients. A soft song fills the air, something a couple might dance to under twinkle lights, but she’s not about to push her luck. Especially not when she spies him caressing that hair tie in a sudden reaction.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Just the music. All I heard in the cell was bass on repeat. It was just thumping. I felt it in my chest. In my skeleton. I’m good. I’m fine.”

She dials the volume down to a background melody and moves closer, something inside her mending when he doesn’t shy away. “You have bad memories connected to music. I can turn it off, or we can make new ones.”

“New ones. Always new ones.”

“Okay then. One cake coming up. In the meantime, measure this and this into that, and tell me what food you miss most from before the turn.”

He smirks. “Putting me to work. I see how it is. Um, pizza. For sure.”

“Mmm. Pepperoni and mushrooms, some feta cheese.”

“Still love that nasty cheese, huh?”

“It adds a salty kick. Still want pineapple on yours like someone without tastebuds?”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

He dumps flour and sugar into the bowl while she chops chocolate they found stashed in a drawer to melt on thestove. She’s intent on distracting him, and so far, it’s mission accomplished.

“I miss ice cream the most,” she continues, enjoying how easy this is. She worried they may have lost their bantering abilities, but it’s come back strong as ever. “I guess we could make it here, but we don’t have a machine.”

“Ever had fake ice cream? One frozen banana and a blender. Boom.”

Her nose wrinkles. “That doesn’t sound like ice cream, Wade. It sounds like mushed banana.”

“I’ll show you. We gotta find a banana tree one of these days, and we’re golden. Just as good as the real thing.”

“Maybe we’ll find one on the road,” she replies before catching herself. She can’t stop thinking of how life together out there might look.

“Maybe we will,” his face softens, one finger dipping into the bowl to scoop out the batter.