The kiss lingered like smoke in the air between us.
The drive to the market was drenched in silence—holy silence. The kind of silence that swelled so thick, you could slice it with a butter knife. Carl didn't say a word. I didn't dare look at him. My fingers curled tightly around the hem of my blouse like they were trying to hold me together.
How dare he kiss me? No—how dare I like it?
I stared out the window like it owed me an answer. The streets of Ontario moved past us, the sound of city life rising and falling like waves, but inside that car, time had frozen.
When we finally reached the market, the scent of spices, roasted corn, and fresh produce wrapped around us like a familiar shawl. The bustle and warmth of human interaction was a jolt from the quiet tension. Market women hollered prices, children ran between stalls, and somewhere, a loudspeaker was blasting old Canadian music.
I clutched the shopping basket like it was a shield.
