Credence

We stand there for a moment, and I feel like this is the point where most people would hug or something, but I take a step back—and away from him—just in case.

He doesn’t come in for an embrace, though. Instead, his eyes flash to the side, and he gestures. “This one, too?”

His voice is deep but soft, like he’s a little bit scared of me but not scared of anything else. My heart speeds up.

What did he ask me?

Oh, the luggage.

I look over my shoulder, seeing my other black case trailing this way.

I nod once, waiting for it to come down the line to us.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked him, remembering how he just grabbed my suitcase without a word to confirm my identity.

But he laughs to himself.

I close my eyes for a moment, remembering he’s probably seen pictures of me somewhere, so it wasn’t hard to figure out. “Right,” I murmur.

“Excuse me,” he says, reaching past me to grab the second case. I stumble back a step, his body brushing into mine.

He pulls it off the belt and adds, “And you’re the only one here with Louis Vuitton luggage, so...”

I shoot him a look, noticing the jeans with dirt-stained knees and the seven-dollar gray T-shirt he wears. “You know Louis?” I ask.

“More than I care to,” he replies and then fixes me with a look. “I grew up in that life, too, remember?”

That life. He says it as if labels and luxury negate any substance. People may live different realities, but the truth is always the same.

I clear my throat, reaching out for one of the cases. “I can take something.”

“It’s okay.” He shakes his head. “We’re good.”

I carry my pack on my back and hold the handle of my carry-on, while he grips my two rolling suitcases.

I’m ready to move, but he’s looking down at me, something timid but also amazed in his eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“No, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “You just look like your mother.”

I drop my eyes. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, and it’s a compliment, to be sure. My mother was beautiful. Charismatic, statuesque…

It just never makes me feel good, though. As if everyone sees her first.

Gray eyes, blonde hair, although mine is the natural sandy shade while hers was colored to look more golden.

My darker eyebrows are my own, though. A small source of pride. I like how they make my eyes pop.

He inhales a deep breath. “Any more?” he asks, and I assume he’s talking about my luggage.

I shake my head.

“Okay, let’s hit the road.”

He leads the way toward the exit, and I follow closely behind, as we maneuver our way through the sparse crowd and outside.

As soon as we step into the sun, I inhale the thick late-August air, smelling the blacktop and the trees lining the parking lot beyond. The breeze tickles the hair on my arms, and even though the sky is cloudless and everything is green, I feel tempted to unwrap the jacket tied around my waist and put it on. We cross the walkway, barely needing to look for cars, because traffic is worse in line for the valet at my parents’ country club on a Sunday afternoon. I lik