We headed west again, admitting it was probably time to make our way to Chicago, but then curiosity got the best of us and we went north to check out a generations-old Italian restaurant in Detroit. After that…I mean, it was only a few hours from there to Pittsburgh (where I had the most incredible everything-imaginable-on-it-pizza of my life), and then several more to Philly (where Marcus admitted he was won over by a thin crust, despite that not usually being his thing). Of course, you couldn’t do a pizza tour without stopping in New York, which wasn’t much farther beyond Philly.

  And that’s the story of how we ended up doing New York, a couple of cities in New Jersey, a handful of towns in Connecticut (including a spectacular high-end restaurant in Stamford), and Boston before we figured it might not be a bad idea to head west again. After all, it was November now, and we had to take weather into consideration. I really didn’t want Marcus trying to maneuver into or out of Chicago after the snow came.

  “The truck does have four-wheel-drive,” he reasoned as we drove over the Massachusetts-New York state line.

  “Yeah, but the trailer makes things a challenge, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely. But it’s not like I’m on a schedule. If I end up staying for a few days…” He shrugged, resting a hand on top of the wheel. “The trailer is winterized, so I can hunker down wherever I need to. I just won’t drive if it’s icy or snowing.”

  I pursed my lips. “Hmm. And it would use a lot of gas for you to get back here to do New England, wouldn’t it?”

  “Mmhmm. It’s still early enough in the season, we could probably hit Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont.”

  “And swing back down and do Rhode Island.”

  He nodded sagely. “Exactly. And the places up north kind of clear out when it’s not peak tourist season, so we won’t run into crowds or anything.”

  “But if we do go up there, and then it snows while we’re heading to Chicago…”

  Marcus glanced at me, a grin on his lips that was somehow both cautious and wicked. “Like I said…we just don’t drive on days that it’s icy or snowing.”

  Much like in my most surreal dreams, Chicago seemed to get even farther away.

  But Marcus…

  Marcus seemed to get even closer with each passing day. Still outside of my reach because holy crap, I was afraid to ruin this amazing vibe between us, not to mention get myself kicked out in the dead of winter. Though I wasn’t as worried about that latter issue. More and more, I believed Marcus wasn’t the type who’d punt me out onto the street if I didn’t toe the line.

  And more and more, I believed he truly did enjoy my company. After all, this vibe between us wasn’t just a tolerant one. He genuinely seemed to enjoy those long conversations we had over meals, whether it meant lingering in a pizza restaurant for ages after we were done filming (we tipped generously to make up for it) or sitting at his small table in the trailer for a solid hour or two after we’d eaten, just because we’d been so lost in conversation. We stayed up way too late talking. Ernie and Bert were both in fantastic shape from all the miles we walked them, the two of us talking the whole time about everything from the pets’ antics to whichever TV show we were binging right then.

  There were moments when I thought we might cross that physical line. Eye contact held a second too long. A protracted pause before we went our separate ways to call it a night. The shiny surfaces in his trailer giving him away when he stole a glance at me while I wasn’t looking. A little too much wine making us both a little too candid about ourselves.

  And, more than anything, those increasingly frustrating moments where I’d stop and remind myself we weren’t a couple.

  Because Jesus fuck, it sure felt like we were more often than not. This was so easy. So chill. What would happen if we crossed that line?

  But every time I asked myself that, I choked, because there were too many ways it could go badly. Not just him turning uncharacteristically cold and kicking me out, but things getting awkward. Hearing him actually say he wasn’t interested in me like that.

  Hearing him say he was, and then finding out the hard way that we weren’t as compatible as this spark of attraction wanted me to think.

  So I didn’t go there.

  Hundreds and hundreds of miles. Days and days. We got closer to each other just like, in a roundabout way, we got closer to Chicago—meandering in that general direction, but never actually getting there.

  We just kept traveling and dancing around each other.

  Despite my frustration over him and my dread over my destination, I enjoyed traveling like this. He was good company, and I was getting to see a lot of the country that I’d never visited before. A lot of places were wildly different—the changes in landscape between Moab and Kitty Hawk was jaw-dropping—but there were similarities, too. Signs for familiar chains in among the more regional places, like the constant stream of McDonald’s and Taco Bell logos along a steady shift from Culver’s and Runza to Waffle House and Cracker Barrel.

  Like every truck stop and gas station, every gym we walked into had the same aesthetic but different faces and a different layout. Every RV park had the same sets of rules but also had its own idiosyncrasies (like the one that adamantly forbade cats on leashes and another that threatened to kick out anyone who so much as thought about feeding a squirrel). Even the constant thread of pizza never got as monotonous as it should have, given that Marcus sought out unique takes on the dish in between visiting the most popular restaurants.

  Every day started and ended in the same place—Marcus’s trailer. Me sleeping on the foldout. Him in the bedroom. Walking the animals together. Feeding them and taking care of Bert’s litter box. Breakfast and doing the dishes. Cleaning the trailer. Doing laundry. By a few weeks in, I was beginning to feel a little like Bert must have whenever he emerged from his carrier after a drive: still in the familiar confines of the trailer, but with completely different (and yet similar) views out the windows.

  And somehow, every single day, I was with Marcus.

  We weren’t joined at the hip. He ran with Ernie in the morning. We worked out separately at the gyms unless one of us needed a spotter. Both of our jobs sometimes demanded our focus on our laptops, and neither of us was offended if the other put in earbuds so we could concentrate.

  Of course, we also slept separately. Since neither of us was on much of a schedule unless we needed to be out of the campsite by a certain time or he had a specific time to be at a restaurant, it wasn’t unusual at all for us to stay up late, talking about whatever until we finally gave in and went to sleep. Every night, it was a little tougher to call time and watch him head back to the bedroom. More than once, I’d fantasized about him asking me to join him.

  But that wasn’t what this was. We were traveling together, but we weren’t together. And if we did hook up, that might make things weird.

  Would it, though? I thought one night as I watched him heading for bed with a yawning Ernie on his heels. Because it was really hard to imagine us losing this chill vibe if we got closer.

  I had no way of knowing, but I reminded myself over and over that I’d rather have this exhilarating “will we? won’t we?” than find out he wasn’t interested or we weren’t compatible.

  Did that make me a coward? Probably. But several months of having everything in my world hanging by a thread, eventually finding myself on the street and having to worry about my actual day-to-day survival—that was enough to make me incredibly reluctant to take risks. Even when those risks had the potential to bring something absolutely amazing into my life, like a real relationship with Marcus.

  I couldn’t risk our friendship. I couldn’t risk my stability and the ability to breathe I’d only known since the first day I’d stepped onto his trailer.

  But dear God, I wished.

  Tonight, we were somewhere in West Virginia. Hurricane—that was the name of the town. We stopped in so many places, it was hard to keep them all straight. I definitely wouldn’t forget the amazing pizza we’d had earlier, though. Spicier than I usually liked for a pizza—enough that it made both of us break out in a sweat—but not so hot that it killed all the flavors. Plus they’d had this ridiculously good homemade cheesecake that soothed the remaining burn afterward. I’d saved the name of the place in my phone in case I somehow ended up passing through here again.

  Now we were hanging out in the trailer in our regular spots, with Bert curled up in my lap on the couch while Ernie draped himself across the theater seat armrests to put his head in Marcus’s lap. We had a map spread out on the coffee table where our laptops usually sat.

  “So, if we head west from here,” Marcus was saying, “we can be in Lexington in a couple of hours. There’s a restaurant on my radar a little north of there.” He stared at the map, something tightening his features.

  I watched him as I absently petted Bert, who was purring loudly. “Something wrong?”

  Judging by the way Marcus bit his lip, the answer was yes. I didn’t push, though, and waited for him to figure out what he wanted to say.

  Finally he saw back a little, petting Ernie’s shoulder and keeping his gaze fixed on the map. “We, um…” He cleared his throat. “Lexington is about six hours out of Chicago.”

  Disappointment coiled in the pit of my stomach as apprehension prickled along my spine. I wasn’t ready for this to be over. I definitely wasn’t ready to face my mother, especially not after the increasingly furious texts and calls over the past several weeks. I was in for an earful as soon as I walked through her front door.

  “We can go to Chicago,” Marcus offered, barely whispering. “Or we can…” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, still not looking at me.

  “We can…what?” I prompted gently.

  He was silent for a moment, gnawing his lip as he stared at the map. Finally, he said, “Tell me honestly.” He met my gaze. “Is this going on too long? I swear I’m not trying to put off taking you home, so if—”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly. “I… This has been fun.” It was my turn for a long pause. “If you want to take me home, though, I can—”

  “It’s totally up to you.”

  We locked eyes, both of us silently challenging the other to make a decision.

  After a while, Marcus swallowed hard. “I don’t want to throw you into the lion’s den before you’re ready. And I also… I mean, like I said before, I enjoy having you along. It’s not an imposition at all.” He tapped the map between us. “I just need to you to tell me which way to go.”

  Chewing the inside of my cheek, I looked at the map. Northwest would take us to Chicago. Any other direction…wouldn’t.

  Right then, my phone vibrated. I jumped, startling Bert, though that amounted to him opening his eyes for half a second before drifting off again. Still, I petted him in an unspoken apology, then reached for my phone. One look at the screen, and the last place I wanted to head was northwest.

  “Your mom?” Marcus asked softly.

  “Sister.” I put my phone facedown on the end table. “She just wants me to know how much she’s spending on daycare because I won’t get my lazy ass to Chicago.”

  “Christ. Again?”

  “Yep.” I wiped a hand over my face. There was nothing I could say that he hadn’t heard a million times already. How my family was tapping their watches and waiting for me to show up and solve their childcare and housekeeping problems, and be grateful for it since it meant I wasn’t on the street. Marcus had heard me hem and haw over the last several weeks, vacillating between resentment for how much they expected me to do for them and guilt over not being more grateful that they were taking me in off the street. He’d assured me plenty of times that I wasn’t a bad son or brother, and that it wasn’t right for my family to expect me to raise the next generation just like I already had my siblings.

  Somewhere in Tennessee, as we’d gotten a little drunk again one night, he’d said, “They see your homelessness as a good thing because now you don’t have a choice but to come home and take on their responsibilities.” He’d rolled his eyes and muttered, “Opportunistic vultures.”

  Couldn’t really argue with him, could I?

  But what was I supposed to do now. How long was too long to put off the inevitable? And more than anything, how long was too long to take advantage of his generosity?

  Before I could come to a conclusion, never mind speak it, Marcus tapped the map. “You ever been to New Orleans?”

  I met his gaze. “I, uh…no?”

  He smiled nervously. “There’s like seven places there that my viewers have been hounding me to try.” With a cautious half-shrug and eyes full of hope, he asked, “Want to head south?”

  He wants me to come with him.

  The words reverberated through my head.

  He did. He wanted me to come with him. Whether to save me from my family or just because he enjoyed my company…

  He wants me to come with him.

  And the longer I stayed with him, the more I was gambling with my living situation in Chicago, not to mention driving myself insane by being so close to Marcus without anything happening between us. Did I really want to keep that going?

  I cleared my throat and adjusted Bert so I could sit up a little. “How far is that from here?”

  “We can probably make it in a day if we start early and go straight through.” His upraised eyebrows asked if we were doing this.

  I smiled.

  Fuck yeah, we were doing this.

  As we plotted our route, my head swam with every emotion imaginable. I’d told him why I wasn’t in a big hurry to get back to Chicago. The more angry calls and texts I got from my family, the more he clearly understood why I embraced our hundreds of miles of procrastination was absolutely welcome. And now he was, yet again, offering up a few hundred more miles of distance and reprieve.

  God, yes.

  I couldn’t quite admit that it wasn’t just what was waiting in Chicago that kept me from suggesting we bite the bullet and head for Illinois.

  Especially since, with every passing day, it had become clearer to me that the biggest problem wasn’t what lay ahead.

  It was what I’d be leaving behind when I stepped out of this trailer for the last time.

  Chapter 18

  Marcus

  I knew there was no putting it off forever. Sooner or later, no matter how many detours we took or excuses we made, Chicago would eventually come into view.

  “We should probably get there before January,” Blake said one morning over breakfast. “I know you want to spend time filming in Chicago, but you probably don’t want to get stranded there in the snow.” He’d sighed and glanced at his phone, shoulders drooping a little. “I can’t keep making excuses to my mom, either.”

  That had made my heart sink. We’d discussed the weather enough times, he knew it wasn’t much of a deterrent for me. But there was the issue of his family. His mom and siblings had been pressuring him, and over the last week or two, he’d started to crack under that pressure. The guilt was just too damn much. I didn’t blame him. Resented the hell out of his family, sure, but I didn’t blame him.

  So, just shy of two months after we started on our “ten-day” drive from Albuquerque to Chicago, we left Louisville, Kentucky, and headed for Illinois.

  And today, at a little after one o’clock, we pulled into a space at a year-round RV park about thirty miles west of the city. Early in my trip, I’d have been leery of leaving my pets alone that far away, but both of them were used to the trailer and felt safe here. Plus the park was away from any major roads, and there were a few other people staying here, including an RV group I’d crossed paths with more than once through my travels. I’d ask them if they could keep an eye on the trailer whenever I was gone (I’d done the same for them in the past while they were on some excursions), and I’d check my cameras frequently just to be safe. Odds were, I’d see the same thing I usually did—Ernie and Bert playing with their toys, snoozing in their favorite places, or staring out the windows and watching the world go by.

  I also had an app that would notify me if any systems in the trailer crapped out, so I’d know if the heat shut off or something. That was mostly something I was concerned about during the hotter months—if the air conditioning failed. At least if the heat went out, they still had tons of blankets to burrow under until I got back and took care of it. I lived in fear of the A/C failing when it was hot out, and I rarely strayed more than ten or fifteen minutes from the trailer during the summer.

  Settling into the campsite was a process I had down to a science, but I struggled to focus on it today. After almost two months, I was used to sharing the tasks with Blake. He’d become as much a part of this routine as my pets. As much a fixture as Bert going straight to a window and staring at his new view for ten or fifteen minutes.

  This is the last time we’re going to do this together.

  Fuck. That took my breath away. After today, I was on my own again. Just me, the dog, and the cat. Same as it had been for months before any of us knew Blake existed. Continuing without him felt about as right as continuing without Bert. Or even Ernie, who’d been riding shotgun since day one.

  We settled in as usual, and though neither of us said it out loud, we both knew the clock was ticking. At some point, Blake was going to text or call his mom, and we’d head to her house in the suburbs. And this would be over.

  He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though. Long after we’d unhooked the trailer and opened up the slides, he was still chilling on the couch with his laptop, checking his email and probably catching up on some work. I was doing the same, making absolutely no move to encourage him to get the ball rolling.

  I didn’t try to encourage him, because I wasn’t ready for him to leave either. At all. And even though I knew that putting it off would only make it worse, I couldn’t accept that it had to happen now.

  “Have you, um…” I cleared my throat. “Have you told your mom you’re in town?”