“What’s a good road trip without a few problems along the way?” I joke.

Jace smiles. “I’m pretty sure it’s the lack of problems that make it a good road trip,” he informs me.

“Maybe if you’re a pessimist.”

“Seriously, I’m sorry about this. I can’t wait to replace that hunk of junk.”

“I like the hunk of junk,” I assure him. “It got us this far.”

He leans back against the booth. “Guess I should have taken it on fewer trips to the county fair.”

I laugh, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood, although he’s still looking at me with a touch of trepidation, as though he’s afraid I might bolt from the booth at any moment.

“It’s really fine,” I tell him. “There’s no place I’d rather be.” I meant the words as a joke, but they come out more seriously than I intended, and ring with sincerity.

Jace’s smile turns relieved.

“Are you two ready to order?” The same woman who greeted us reappears, a pad of paper at the ready.

I haven’t even glanced at the menu yet, but I already know what I want. “Burger and fries, please.”

“I’ll have the same,” Jace adds.

The woman jots down our order. “Coming right up.”

Jace’s phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket. “Hello,” he answers. Whoever is on the other end of the line talks for about a minute, and then Jace thanks them and hangs up. “They think they know what’s wrong with the truck. It should be ready in an hour.”

Our food arrives quickly. I dig in eagerly to the greasy fries and juicy burger. Jace watches me with amusement as I inhale my food. When we’ve both finished eating, we continue sitting in the booth, talking until the hour has passed.

We arrive back at the gas station to find Jace’s truck has been moved to the side of the convenience store. I get back into the truck while Jace talks briefly with the mechanic. A few minutes later, he climbs into the cab as well.

He grins over at me. “Let’s hope this guy knew what he was doing.”

Thankfully, as soon as Jace turns the key, the truck starts with its distinctive rumble. Jace guides it out of the gas station and onto the road that leads back to the highway.

As Jace merges onto the interstate, a familiar melody begins playing. I bounce in my seat and turn up the volume on the old radio.

Jace glances over, raising an eyebrow as I belt out the lyrics to my favorite song.

“What are you, sixty?” he teases.

“The classics are timeless,” I inform him between verses.

He scoffs, but doesn’t comment further as I continue singing.

“You’re a terrible singer,” he informs me a minute later, grinning widely. I ignore him, just singing louder.

Night approaches rapidly, and the open plains that line the highway become less and less visible in the fading light until they disappear from view entirely. My eyelids grow heavy as I lean my head back against the seat. I’ve shifted farther toward the center of the cab, taking advantage of all the additional space I can in the close confines of the truck.