The drive home always feels faster than the original trip. Joy’s never understood why. She has a poor understanding of time to begin with and being sad only makes it worse. It doesn’t slow down to give her more time with Fox. No, it seems to speed up to spite her—just rubbing it in that their brief engagement has been forcibly cut short. She wanted to experience, wanted to live those handful of remaining vacation hours with Fox.

What couldn’t have possibly been two hours later, Malcolm pulls into his driveway and shuts the car off. Summer and Malcolm jump out, slamming the doors behind them.

Joy doesn’t move, staying right where she is, counting every stolen second until Fox’s lips brush against her forehead. “Are you resting?”

“No.” She lifts her head and kisses him.

Joy wants to remember this moment.

Fox’s thumb massaging small circles on the back of her hand. The subtle smell of roses and aloe. His stubble pleasantly rubbing her face. The rise and fall of his chest supported by his steady breathing. The rumble of his voice. His reluctant laughs and hard-won smiles.

She forces her brain to catalog it so she never forgets the five minutes when someone made her feel enough to eclipse Malcolm’s constant presence in her mind.

“Okay.” Eyes closed, Joy takes a deep breath.

He nudges her, kissing her cheek.

“Okay,” she says again. “We should go.”

They get out of the car and Joy heads for the trunk.

“Where are your keys?” Malcolm is standing with her suitcases.

Startled that Malcolm’s speaking to her now, she fishes them out of her purse and beeps her car without question. He doesn’t wait, immediately loading them into the trunk for her.

Across the street, Fox loads his and Summer’s suitcases into a blue car. She’s waiting by the passenger side door and when she spots Joy watching her, she waves and yells, “Don’t forget game night on Wednesday!”

“All set.” Malcolm returns to Joy’s side. “Text me when you get home so I know you made it safely.”

“Did you want to talk at all? You—”

“No,” he says firmly, already walking toward his house. “I really don’t.”

Joy’s hands tighten around her purse strap as she watches him go. The ache in her heart continues to grow more insistent. What is he thinking? What is he feeling? He seems to be okay with Summer, so things can’t be all bad.

In the gift shop, he specifically said she could talk to him about anything, that he hates it when she shuts him out, so why won’t he talk to her now? Is he upset about Fox? Is he mad at her? Is there anything she can do that won’t make things worse?

“You can get in,” Fox says to Summer as he crosses the street. “I’ll be right back.”