Atlas reaches for my free hand, and he holds it. He doesn’t answer me. He just smiles at me and squeezes my hand, like what he wants is a secret that’s too soon to spill.

Holding his hand feels like such a natural thing. Maybe because we used to do this so much as teenagers, but sitting in this car with him and not holding his hand feels more out of place than holding hands does.

Even with the hitch I put into our date by falling asleep, the entire night has felt easy and comfortable. Being near him is second nature. I trace a finger over the top of his wrist. “I need to go.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing his thumb over mine. Atlas’s phone pings, so he reaches for it with his free hand and reads the incoming text. He sighs quietly, and the way he drops his phone back into the cupholder makes me think he’s irritated with whoever just texted him.

“Everything okay?”

Atlas forces a smile, but it’s a pathetic attempt. I see right through it, and he knows it. He breaks eye contact and looks down at our hands. He flips mine over until it’s faceup, and he begins to trace the lines in my palm. His finger feels like a lightning rod, zapping electricity from my hand throughout the rest of my body. “My mother called me last week.”

That confession takes me aback. “What did she want?”

“I don’t know, I ended the call before she could tell me, but I’m pretty sure she needs money.”

I thread our hands together again. I don’t know what to say to him. That has to be hard, not hearing from your mother for almost fifteen years, and then she finally reaches out when she needs something. It makes me so grateful that my mother is a huge part of my life.

“I didn’t mean to drop that on you when you’re in a hurry. We should save some conversation for our second date.” He smiles at me, and it instantly flips the mood. It’s remarkable how his smile can dictate the feelings occurring inside my own chest. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

I laugh because my car is literally two feet away. But Atlas rushes around the front of his car and opens my door, then helps me out. And then, with one step each, we’re at my car.

“Fun walk,” I tease.

He flashes a brief smile, and I don’t know if he means for it to be seductive, but I’m suddenly warm all over, despite the cold weather. Atlas peeks over my shoulder, nudging his head toward my car. “Do you have more journals in there?”

“Just had the one on me.”

“Shame,” he says. He leans a shoulder against my car, so I do the same, facing him.

I have no idea if we’re about to kiss. I wouldn’t object, but I also just ate onions after sleeping for over an hour, so I doubt my mouth is at its most appealing right now.