Goode stared at him over her steaming cup of expensive, yet lousy, coffee. There was a stranger-like quality to him, even though she’d known him for years. There was something about his hard set jaw and his all too trusting eyes.
“You’re making me nervous,” he whispered. “You know I hate it when people watch me.”
“I know,” Goode replied with a blush. She poured the piping hot coffee into the sink. “I was just…thinking.” The kitchen was filled with the light of the rising sun, washing the white walls in an orange color.
Her gaze fell askance at the map on the table.
He was holding a yellow highlighter in his hands, trying to find the best route around the Rockies. “You want to help me with this?” He called to Goode, while rubbing his hairy chin, feigning deep thought. “I don’t want us to get lost.”
“How can we get lost if we don’t know where we’re going?”