"I think I have to take it," Elena said.
Jake's jaw worked. Then he nodded, because he was not a man who made cages out of wanting, even when wanting felt like the loudest engine in the shop.
"Then you take it. And I drive you as far as the junction. And I visit. And you visit. And we write. And we see if backward and forward can do long distance without becoming a sad song on a loop."
"That's a lot of ands."
"I'm stocking up. Winter sale on conjunctions."
Elena cried once, quickly, angry at her own eyes for making a scene in a place that sold glitter and cocoa. Jake handed her a napkin from the snack bar that said STARLIGHT in fading ink.
"I got you," he said.
She laughed through it, glossy lips trembling then steadying.