“I . . . um. Do you know what flavor you want?”

Rush smiles at me, way too sudden. “The one that’s good enough that every time I say the word muffin I taste it again.”

Lelia snorts. She might not be watching, but she’s definitely paying attention.

My fingers shake as I reach for the basket. It’s nothing, just a baked good that I didn’t even make. But I don’t want to get this wrong. I don’t want to get anything wrong with the Grays.

This is about the Grays.

This isn’t about you and Rush.

There is no you and Rush.

My fingers run over saran-wrapped muffins, closing on an espresso chocolate chip. I think up and reject ten flirty comments. I’ve never held myself back like this before. Never slipped a leash on my feelings and tugged every time I wanted to get closer. When I unwrap the muffin, it releases the smell of butter and coffee, crumbs flying everywhere. I put it on a thin paper napkin and hand it to Rush.

She snatches a piece of the sugared top, opens her lips, and slides it onto her tongue. She chews for a second. With her eyes closed. Her long hair swishes as her mouth works over the bite. “Yep. That’s the one.”

Rush can’t be flirting with me, so my mind opens every drawer and flings them upside down, looking for another explanation. Maybe Rush is desperate to feel every little thing, since Imogen can’t feel anything.

Rush wraps the rest of her muffin in the napkin and sticks it in her jacket pocket, hands me cash. Then she and Lelia straddle the motorcycles, bringing them to life, throaty and restless. Rush hums, the high notes layering over the roar. She curves out of the parking lot, leaving music like a choppy wake.

I’ve heard those notes before: Rush sang them in the grove last night.

“Hey,” I call after her. “What’s that song?”

But Rush is too far away to hear me. I think about chasing her — slapping pavement with my Keds, running down the highway after a motorcycle. My impulse around Rush is to be reckless. But the last time I left the place I was supposed to be and ran toward the road, it didn’t go well. Courtney frantically asks if I’ve started on the orders for drive-up customers. I blink and notice a line of five cars that has somehow built up. I ask Courtney to repeat the orders. I make a smoothie and watch my hands on the shivering blender like they might turn into birds and fly away.

Rush and Imogen: Now