He’s still looking at me. I don’t think he ever stopped. I swallow hard, and I know he notices. Those damn blue eyes—they can’t lie.

He’s wrapping gauze around my arm, and I want to record everywhere he touches me so I can study it, memorize it, and know what our bodies look like together. For a moment, I’m lost in him.

“Now, why were you measuring your trunk?” he asks, ripping the final piece of tape for the gauze with his teeth, the noise bringing me back from somewhere I shouldn’t have been.

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s stupid,” I say, suddenly shy and embarrassed, too ashamed to ask for his help now after I’ve forced him to become my own personal medic. He stands and drops the tape back into his toolbox, and I look down at my wrapped arm.

“Here, take two of these,” he says, holding a bottle of Ibuprofen out for me.” I grab the bottle and twist it open, dropping two pills in my hand. I look around for something to drink. I’ve never been good at swallowing pills. Mac would always let me chew them, and chase the foul taste with chocolate milk. I’ve learned to power through now as an adult. Cody must sense what I’m looking for, because he bends forward to reach into a small mini fridge and hands me a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” I say, holding the bottle up as if to say cheers! I fill my mouth with water, and drop the pills in and feel them float against my teeth. I swallow once, but they don’t go down. I drink more water, and they still swirl in my mouth, dissolving but not following the water down. I’m guzzling now, mortified that Cody is seeing this, and finally feel the pills rush down my throat. I put the cap on, and hand it back to him. He’s just shaking his head and staring in disbelief.

“Do you…not know how to take medicine?” he laughs, holding his hand up to the side of his face.

“I have a fear of choking,” I say, seriously. I do—I cut my steak into the tiniest of bites. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

The more I protest and beg, the more Cody fights his laughter, until finally he’s cackling out loud, and the sound of him is echoing throughout the garage. Done with being a joke, I stand up and walk quickly back out to the driveway. “Thanks for the help,” I say sarcastically, over my shoulder.

I’m almost back to my car when Cody catches up to me. “Charlie, come on. I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, his voice sounds genuine. His hand touches my shoulder, and I’m instantly apt to forgive. I don’t even comment on my name this time, I’m too wrapped up in his chase.

“It’s okay, I get it. It’s funny,” I say, shrugging as I look at him. “I just never learned, really. My dad…” I pause bringing up Mac. I don’t talk about him much with anyone, yet, strangely, I can’t wait to share bits and pieces of him with Cody. “My dad was a single dad. He didn’t really know what he was doing with the whole parenting thing. I mean…don’t get me wrong…he was amazing. He just didn’t really go the typical route, and there’s a lot I never learned.”

Cody’s silence makes me feel foolish and uncomfortable. I apologize again and turn to kneel behind my car to see how far the tape measure rolled. It’s in the center, so I’m better off pulling forward. I’m about to stand and reach for my keys when I see Cody’s back, his body low to the ground and his chest dragging along the concrete as he reaches under for my tape.

“Here,” he says, handing it to me as he brushes the dirt from his front. “Now, seriously, why are you measuring your trunk?”

“I need to get my desk,” I say. I’m beyond asking for help at this point, and Cody’s earned my blunt honesty. “It won’t fit.”

I look directly at his truck, still rumbling behind him, and then back into his eyes.

“Come on, where’s this desk?” he says, urging me to hop in on the passenger side as he rounds the front and gets in the driver’s seat.

My smile is huge. I don’t know what I’m smiling for—my desk coming home, or the fact that I’m now in Cody’s truck. My mind is screaming Trevor!—but I keep pushing that away, convincing myself I’m being innocent. And I am.

The storage facility isn’t far, which is good, as our ride is mostly silent. I hand Cody the key card, and he scans it at the front gate. We drive to the back row of storage lockers until we get to mine. It’s not very large, but it is air-conditioned.

It takes me a while to remember exactly what key is right—I still have my keys to Mac’s house along with our old mailbox key on my ring. I finally turn the latch and roll the door up. My desk is up front, thankfully, and since we just moved my items in a few short weeks ago, nothing’s had a chance to get too dusty. I slide my hand along the top of the wood, and instantly, I feel home.