I definitely do not need my parents taking a red-eye to Los Angeles to help me sort out my complicated life, but I appreciate her unwavering support. For now, I think I can handle things.

Brian texts me and asks if I’m home so that he can drop Decker off. When I tell him that I am, he follows up by asking if I’ve got time for a surprise car ride. He says the air vents have been programmed to smell like chicken nuggets and he’s got a cold brew with my name on it in a thermos. Clearly, he’s not hanging on to any baggage from the way I acted last night and I owe him letting go and doing the same. I agree to be ready in the next twenty minutes.

Once he’s downstairs in his familiar pickup spot, I hop in the Tesla that smells better than a bag of In-N-Out when hungover and press the button that fastens my seat belt. While adjusting it, I can’t help but notice there’s a basket with a baguette sticking out of it in the back seat. Wait. Is Brian taking me on a picnic? Is that what this little surprise is all about?

I face forward again in the passenger’s seat. Even though I’m wearing white leggings, I could go for a Saturday lunch picnic with Brian, grass stains and all. A smirk purses my lips that I can’t seem to help or deny.

“What are you cheesing about?” Brian asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just smiling.”

It’s undeniable how comfortable things are with Brian. I can’t think of another person who wouldn’t have brought up my antics from last night by now. I mean this in the best possible way, but he’s like a piece of low-hanging fruit. Brian represents someone I don’t need to go on five awkward dates with before we start to get anywhere the least bit emotionally interesting. He represents someone I don’t have to explain the complexities of my first marriage to. He isn’t someone I have to convince that I don’t carry around any heavy “widow baggage.” He’s someone who believes me that I’m truly fine and ready to get back into the dating pool. And Brian would never make me choose between hiding my past and having a future.

Next thing I know, Brian pulls off on the exit for Gower Street and makes a quick right turn. The car parks itself alongside what appears to be a construction site. I see nothing but chain-link fence, bulldozers, and piles of dirt and gravel.

“We’re here,” he says, sounding like a giddy dad on a road trip arriving at a Wisconsin cheese castle. He presses a button and our seat belts automatically retract themselves.

Out of the Tesla, Brian marches to the fence—sans picnic basket—and puts his fingers through one of the open holes as he stares out at the vast land. I position myself next to him and look out as well. Although I’m not sure at what specifically.