When she could imagine that it was still a familiar face, and not this one that seemed so different now.

He had kissed her first. And the grand tapestry of their friendship felt altered.

And she found that irritated her a bit, because why hadn’t she ever thought of it? She had teased him when they were younger. That time she’d shown him her bra. And he hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t made a move to touch her, hadn’t even let his gaze flicker down to her breasts. He had been like stone, but tonight he wasn’t stone. He was a man, and she realized that she had taken comfort in the fact that she thought him a mountain. And now he had revealed himself to be flesh and blood, and she didn’t know what that meant.

But if only she had kissed him once. Just to taunt him. Just to tease him. Just to prove to herself what it could be, maybe she wouldn’t be so surprised now.

It was why she went through life ripping Band-Aids off all potential wounds. So that she could never, ever be surprised. Ever. The rain was falling in earnest now, and her hair was sticking to her face, her tank top sticking to her body. He bundled her up into the truck, and didn’t say another word. And she didn’t dare speak.

The rain on the roof of the truck, on the windshield, the sound of the wipers moving back and forth. The motor. The occasional rumble of thunder. A familiar soundtrack, but one that seemed as different as Ryder’s face looked. Like all the world around her was foreign and new and she had no idea what she might do with it.

No idea what would happen when he finished driving. Or where they were even going.

Just home, she realized. And she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. A breath escaped and she couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of relief or sadness.

Because something inside her had felt momentous; really, it had for a few days. It had led up to the whole pregnancy thing, and then somehow had brought her here.

And now maybe nothing was going to change, which should be a profound and great thing. Except...

He parked the truck in front of the house.

He didn’t say anything.

She got out before he killed the engine, and she started to walk back toward the camper.

But he was behind her. She could hear his footsteps, and goose bumps raised up on her arms, the rain rolling down her skin. And he was there. Still.

Him.

And then his hand was on her, warm on her slick skin, as he stopped her from taking another step. She could pull away. She knew he would release her. But instead she turned to face him, because she wanted to know what this unpredictable version of her friend might do.

Because she was curious.

And she knew what they said about curiosity, but at the moment it was difficult for her to care.