Nathan reached across the center console and took her hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
“My feet hurt,” she said.
“That’s marriage.”
“That is not marriage.”
“It starts with sore feet. Then comes shared insurance. Then one of us pretends not to see the Amazon boxes.”
She squeezed his hand.
Outside the car, the summer storm had turned the roads slick and black.
Charleston lights blurred in the rear window, gold and red and soft around the edges.
For a few minutes, everything was normal enough to be sacred.
Then headlights appeared behind them.
Nathan noticed first.
Emily saw his eyes lift to the rearview mirror once.
Then again.
The smile left his face so quickly that she felt her own mouth go still.
“What?” she asked.
He did not answer.
His hands shifted on the wheel.
The vehicle behind them came closer.
Too close.
Its high beams flooded the back window and turned the inside of the car white.
