her best don’t ask any follow-up questions voice. A thing she has liked about Nick in the past is that generally he doesn’t pry. “That’s them.”
Her tone must be pretty effective, because he doesn’t pry now either. “So,” he says instead, eyes on the road and one hand hooked over the wheel. “How was your evening?”
Taryn glances over at him, smirking. There’s a quiet kind of wryness to him it took her a real long time to figure out. “Oh, you know,” she says, examining her fingernails with exaggerated nonchalance. “Had its moments, I guess.”
Nick huffs a laugh. “Smartass.”
“Hey, you bait me.” Taryn grins, nodding at the second coffee in the cup holder. “That mine?”
Nick eases them around the corner slow, other kids trekking across snowy lawns to catch their late buses. Taryn bets there will be at least a couple accidents to start off the morning. “Yeah, Falvey,” Nick tells her. “That’s yours.”
Taryn picks up the cup, turning toward the window to hide her smile.
Nick isn’t sure what to expect when he picks up Falvey in the Tahoe. Last time they did this it was awkward and awful by turns, Taryn unable to string two civil words together for months after the fire. Nick used to pray for big accidents.
Turns out it isn’t like that at all.
“Thanks for the ride,” Taryn’s saying, clambering out into the frigid parking lot. The drive was fifteen minutes of alternating quiet and chatter, her shiny, messy hair and those nervous hands. Nick wouldn’t put money on it, but he’s pretty sure he’s being felt out for—something. “And the coffee.” Another toothy smile and she’s gone, ducking inside the squat cinderblock building.
Nick blows out a breath, scrubbing a hand along his jaw. He shaved this morning before taking Atlas out for a walk. The cold air bites at his exposed skin.
Lynette’s the first face he sees inside, coming out of the kitchenette with her giant coffee mug. “You got your girl again today, Kanelos,” she announces, smirking around a sip. “Almost like someone’s been stacking the roster.” And sure enough, posted right there in the hallway over her shoulder: Falvey/Kanelos, Bus #3451.
Lyn’s still looking at him, waiting on a reaction. Nick shrugs and works real hard on not giving her one. “Almost like,” he echoes blandly and heads into the locker room to get dressed.
Falvey’s already at the bus when he makes it out there—how she changes so fast is beyond him, although he bets it helps to have as many siblings as she seems to. Her red hair’s braided sensibly between her shoulder blades. Already Nick wants to mess it up something fierce. “You know, Falvey,” he tells her, figuring the best defense is a good offense, “if you wanted to spend the day with me so bad, you could have just asked.”
Taryn snorts. “Go screw,” she tells him without hesitation, but she’s grinning when she says it, handing him half the supply list to check. Nick is really, really going to have to watch how much he likes her smile. “Take the list.”
It’s a busy shift, half a dozen car accidents, two serious enough to transport, plus an old lady who slips down her front steps getting her mail. By the time they bring her to Fairview and break for lunch, it’s after two. Nick stops at a deli he likes not far from the hospital and they get roast beef and kettle chips, two fat sour pickles out of the barrel next to the counter. At the last second Nick gets a cookie too.
Taryn’s eyes widen when he waves off the crumpled cash she tries to hand him. “Seriously?” she asks as they head across the icy parking lot. She’s got the plastic bag looped around her skinny wrist. “What is this, like, a date?”
Nick raises his eyebrows. They haven’t talked much since they got on the bus this morning, one call after another and the endless whine of the siren. “If I was taking you on a date, Falvey, you’d know it.”
That makes her