He’s out of breath and his cheeks are stained pink with wind burn. “I really hate you, Corabelle.”

I can’t help the smile from sneaking across my face. “Hate you more.”

We make a safe escape to the car and Dean lets the dog hop into the backseat with me. I situate myself, trying to warm up, and grin wide when she nuzzles right into my lap like its going to be her favorite place in the world. The dog releases a long sigh, her chin resting on my thigh. Safe at last.

“I’m naming you Blizzard,” I announce to the fluffy dog with matted fur and a sprained paw. “Mom and Dad better let me keep you.”

As Dean puts the car in drive and veers back onto the main drag, I catch him glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I swear there is an unfamiliar softness in his light eyes—something akin to tenderness. Something I haven’t seen before.

But it disappears as quickly as it came, and the devious twinkle returns.

I stick my tongue out at him.

He flips me off.

Day eight greets us with warm, tangerine sunbeams—a stark contrast to the murky, muddy feeling of despair living inside my heart.

Eight days.

It feels like longer. It feels like a lifetime.

I wonder when I’ll lose track of the days altogether and everything will blur into one prolonged, endless nightmare.

I look over at Dean, and I’m surprised to find him facing me again. He looks worn and rundown. His cheeks are gaunt, his eyes rimmed with dark circles. His skin has turned from a healthy golden bronze to a chalky shade of white. His appearance has shifted dramatically in only twenty-four hours.

But his eyes are still the bluest blue, and they are fixed on mine.

I’m about to tell him “good morning”, ask him how he slept, make idle conversation, but Dean speaks up first.

“You would have gotten them both,” he says.

His voice sounds frayed as I blink at him, processing his words. They take longer than usual to sink in, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m so exhausted or because part of me doubted that Dean would ever speak to me again. I swallow, my throat cinching.

“You would have adopted both dogs because your heart is too big for only one.”

I thought I was too beaten down and dehydrated to make anymore tears, but I surprise myself when my eyes start to mist. I keep my watery gaze on Dean, afraid to break this contact, afraid he’ll withdraw and leave me all alone again. I offer a small smile. Then I reply, my voice equally raspy, “I didn’t think you ever noticed my heart.”

It’s a heavy declaration, and I hate that it’s true.

Dean’s weary face grows even wearier as he absorbs my words. “It’s impossible not to notice, Cora.”

I finally lower my eyes and draw my knees back up to my chin. I don’t hear the dripping pipe anymore and idly wonder if it’s so cold outside that the pipes have frozen. A cold front was supposed to come through last week.