Half an hour later, irritation replaced amusement. “Really?” he muttered. “Now she’s going silent on me?” He called her once, twice, and then ten times. It went straight to voicemail. He imagined her sulking, making a point. He almost admired the defiance. Then something colder began to stir beneath his annoyance.
He turned the car around. The highway stretched empty in both directions, the storm thinning to mist. Every mile back felt longer than it should have. He told himself she’d be there, waiting, arms crossed, ready to shout at him. He rehearsed the apology he’d never mean.