Luka
I had whiplash from the speed of all of the changes over those three days.
At the dinner table, over a meal of chicken, corn on the cob, and cantaloupe, I searched Caleb’s face for signs of disappointment, chastising myself every time I did.
He was telling me about a time when the limo broke down on the way to a royal visit, deep in the woods, and he and the king had to camp overnight.
“It was one of the best times with him in my life. Him and his bodyguard, Terrence.”
“How did you get out?” I asked. But I was barely thinking about the conversation. I was thinking about him holding my hand, and what it meant, if it meant anything at all.
But he held my hand in front of the pack. That had to mean something, right? Or was he just helping me with my injury? He wasn’t holding
