Paul is already up when I wake the next morning. Heat flushes my cheeks as I think about what we did togetherst night. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I wonder if things will be different between us now.


    I take my time dressing, worried that as soon as I face Paul, the spell fromst night will be broken.


    There’s a delicious smelling from the kitchen, and the rumbling of my belly draws me out of the room.


    “Morning, beautiful.”


    He smiles when he sees me, and my anxiety slips away. He’s the same guy he was twenty-four hours ago. Nothing’s changed. A mixing bowl sits in the kitchen sink, and other baking equipment lies scattered over the counter.


    “Do you ever stop cooking?” I tease as he pulls a tray of scones out of the oven.


    Paul chuckles. “I like to bake on the weekend. I always take my mom something.”


    My heart squeezes for the man who takes care of his mother so well.


    “Do you still want toe visit her?” He’s watching me carefully. This is a big deal for him, and he’s waiting to see if I’ll keep my word.


    “Of course. If you don’t mind me tagging along.”


    He shakes his head. “You’re not tagging along, Cassie. I want you to meet her.”


    An hourter, I cling onto the back of Paul’s bike as we drive into Wild. He stops outside the local convenience store and kills the engine.


    “I just need to grab a few things.”


    I go in with him, and he fills a basket with canned food, fresh bread, baby form, and diapers.


    “Is this something you’re not telling me?” I joke. “Have you got a secret baby hidden somewhere?”


    He just smiles. “It’s not for me.”


    He pays for the groceries and stuffs them into his saddlebag. Then we take the road behind the store, heading past run-down apartments into a residential area. We slow down as we ride past houses with overgrown grass and gates that hang off fences.


    At the end of the road is a trailer park, and we turn in and stop by the reception desk.


    A woman shuffles out of the office and raises a hand in greeting.


    “Hey Paul.” Her voice is croaky from age.


    He greets the woman, and they chat for a few minutes as he pulls the groceries out of his saddle bag.


    “This is for whoever needs it this week.” He hands over the groceries, the diapers, and therge can of baby form.


    “God bless you,” she says.


    My chest expands as I watch Paul talk to the woman. He gets back on the bike, and my arms slide around his waist. We take the gravel path that weaves between the trailers slowly, but I hang on to him tight.


    We dodge kids kicking a worn ser ball around. Some of them chase the bike, and Paul reaches into his pocket and throws a bag of sweets back to them.


    A man watering a line of nts outside a run-down trailer raises a hand in greeting.


    They know him here, and adults and kids alike call out greetings as we ride past.


    In the back corner of the park, we stop in front of a weather-stained trailer that’s smaller than the rest. The wheels have been removed, and it’s sitting on bricks. The brown paneling is worn in ces, and one of the windows has a crack in it. Grass grows up around the base, and there’s a canvas overhang that forms an awning over the door. Under the awning are a cluster of paving stones surrounded by colorful nt pots to form a small courtyard that encloses a stic table and two stic chairs.


    At the sound of the bike, a womanes to the door and leans on the doorframe as she watches us park.


    Her gray hair is cut short, and deep wrinkles line her eyes. She holds a cigarette in one hand, and ash falls to the soil as she taps it against the side of a pot nt.


    “Morning, Paulie.”


    Her gaze moves to me, and her eyes light up with the same sparkle as her son’s. “You brought a girl.”


    I slide off the bike, my stomach knotting. I’ve never been great at meeting new people, especially someone I want to impress, like Paul’s mom.


    “Let me have a look at you.” She stubs out her cigarette in a potted nt and shuffles down the pathway. She takes my hands in her boney ones. Her fingers are stained yellow and crinkly like paper, lined from age and years of smoking.


    “This is Cassie,” Paul says. “This is Donna, my mom.”


    Donna squeezes my hands. “She’s pretty, Paulie.” She smiles at me. “And I bet you’re smart too. You look smart.” Her smile is infectious and I smile back at her, unsure what to say.


    “Wee to my home, Cassie.” She releases her grip and her arm sweeps around, taking in the trailer and the small patch of paving stones and potted nts that make up her garden. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”


    There’s pride in her voice as she surveys her small patch of the world. It makes me feel foolish for the mansion I live in. I’ve never heard my parents speak about our home that way.


    “You two take a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”


    I take one of the stic chairs under the canopy. Paul ducks into the trailer andes back with another chair that he ces around the stic table.


    “How long has your mom lived here?” I ask. The potted nts are well cared for, and there are herbs among the flowers, their fragrance tinged with the smell of cigarettes.


    “She moved in after she got sick.” He pulls on his beard. “I grew up somewhere simr but further down the mountain.”


    A ser ball bounces on the paving stones and bumps into the leg of the table, then rolls toward Paul. He kicks it back to the kid whoes looking for it.


    “Thanks Paul,” the boy shouts as he runs off with his friends.


    I wonder what it would it be like to grow up in a ce like this. Suddenly, the privilege I grew up with hits me. Just a short way up the mountain, I’m living in a mansion, and people here are scratching out an existence in a trailer park.


    “Do you take sugar?” Donna sets mismatched mugs on the table andes back with the pot of coffee and a carton of milk. She pours out the coffee and takes a seat.


    Paul takes the container of scones out of his saddlebag, and Donna ducks inside to get tes.


    I talk easily with his mom. Her mind is sharp even if her body is frail. It’s easy to see where Paul gets his easygoing nature from.


    We take a walk around the meadow at the back of the trailer park, and Donna insists we stay for lunch. She makes up boloney and cheese sandwiches, and we eat them at the outdoor table while watching the kids y.


    When we leave, she hugs me with a tight grip, and I promise toe back and visit soon.


    We get back to Paul’s ce and go inside. It’s quietpared to the rowdy trailer park and I think about how different our worlds are, how different our upbringings have been.


    “What’s up?” Paul asks.


    I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter. “You must think I’m a privileged princess.”


    He shakes his head. “No, Cassie. I think you’re fucking amazing.”


    He takes my hands in his, and his expression is sincere. It doesn’t matter to Paul that we’re different, and it shouldn’t matter to me.


    I may have had a privileged upbringing, but no one encouraged me to follow my dreams the way Paul does. No one gives me that kind of confidence.


    He pulls me onto hisp and his hands move down my cheeks, brushing my hair behind my ears.


    “You’re fucking amazing, Cassie. And I love you.”


    The words make my heart sing. This has happened so quickly, and I’m speechless as emotions bubble up inside me.


    I’m about to answer him back when the sound of a car pulling up outside makes us both turn toward the window.


    A familiar gray Audi pulls into the clearing.


    It’s my dad.


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