Free Keep You by Lauren Gilley

room. No, he’d kissed her. It had been so brief, his lips had just touched hers, so light, and then Jordan had ruined everything.
    What would have happened if her brother hadn’t come back downstairs?
    She knew she had to be blushing like an idiot – her whole body felt like she was stuffed head-to-toe with charcoal – and had no idea why no one had commented on how stupid she must look, stealing glances at Tam and pushing her food around on her plate.
                  After dinner, Jo took up her usual role of clearing off the table and watched, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, as Tam shrugged into his coat, kissed Beth on the cheek and thanked her for dinner, traded guy-hugs with Mike and Jordan, nodded to Randy, and headed for the door. She was so disappointed for a moment, sure he wasn’t going to acknowledge her, but he turned as he stepped out into the garage, hand on the knob, pulling the door to behind him, met her gaze, and winked at her before he disappeared.
                  Jo fumbled the plate of chicken grease she was holding and nearly dropped it. The grease and various other bits of crunchy chicken residue splattered down onto the table.
                  “Joanna!” her mother admonished. Beth pulled the plate out of her hands, shaking her head. “Here, Tam left before dessert. Run catch him and give him these.” She had a Ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies in her other hand. “Before you make an even bigger mess.”
                  Jo knew that if she flung her arms around her mom and thanked her, she’d only be asked if she was feeling alright. Instead, she wiped her hands on her jeans legs, snatched up the bag and ran. This almost felt like a sign, like fate pushing her back toward Tam after that moment in the basement before. She struggled to keep from smiling as she jogged through the garage and out the pedestrian door into the full darkness of night.
                  The wind hit her like a slap, snatching her hair over her shoulder, pulling the breath out of her lungs. The air had a bite to it, a few stinging drops of rain, and even with only the light of the streetlamp at the end of the drive, she could still tell that the clouds ahead were a roiling dark mass. Crisp, brown leaves tumbled across the pavement with loud scraping sounds, the boughs that shaded the drive tossing together, creaking, groaning. It felt like one of those magically cool, chaotic nights that always seemed to bring people closer together in movies.
                  Tam drove an old sky-blue Chevy Malibu that he said was his mother’s – it was the only thing he’d ever said about his mother – and he was climbing into it, sitting down behind the wheel and closing his door with one of those heavy, solid metal thunk s old cars made. Jo clutched the bag of cookies to her chest and jogged toward him. As the engine turned over with a roar, she pulled open the passenger door and slipped inside. When she shut the door, all the noise – the wind, the blowing leaves, the tree limbs, even the rumble of the car – faded, and then all she could hear was her own breathing.
                  Tam didn’t seem surprised to see her. He turned toward her, one hand braced casually on the wheel, and in the glow of the dash lights, she saw that he wore a small, amused smile. “I feel like the poor unsuspecting shmuck at a gas station who just had a beautiful bank robber jump in my car with a bag of stolen money. You thinking Canada or Mexico?”
                  “You’re not funny,” she said, but a squeal of a giggle bubbled out of her throat anyway. She felt like such a stupid girl. “Here.” She set the Ziploc bag up on the dash. “Mom wanted me to bring you these.”
                  He nodded. “Thanks.” His fingers drummed on the big, ridged wheel. “Was that it? You chased me down for