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myself than I have in a long time.
    This is unfortunate for Flint, because he's about to find out just how stubborn 'Ana' can be.
    He turns away from the road to consider me as he mulls over my invitation. My heart reacts strangely to once more having his dark eyes on me, and my pulse flutters when I realize I recognize his expression. For a moment, I swear he stares at me the same way I saw him looking at the road. As if from a distance, sure, but with more longing than I can articulate.
    But I convince myself that I'm wrong. I'm completely misidentifying the look, and misinterpreting the situation. There's no way he wants me to tag along, and I'm going to have to convince him. When I see the steely mask come back down over his expression, I'm certain of this once more. It's up to me to decide my future with this man. Something tells me that without him, I might not have one for very much longer.
    "Yeah. All right," he agrees. I lead the way this time, taking us both past his bike. He settles the saddlebags back onto the backseat, and then follows me into the tiny room where breakfast is served. There is no one else in the room, not even a motel attendant.
    Breakfast turns out to constitute boxes of cereal, milk of an unprinted and dubious expiration date, containers of yogurt, a bowl of fruit, and a plastic case of greasy-looking muffins. I feel a wave of relief at seeing the fruit, and quickly help myself to an under-ripe banana as Flint pours himself a cup of coffee. I see that he takes it black. Of course. I would have felt mildly disappointed if he took it any other way. He pulls the case open and extracts a muffin as I sit down at the table nearest a stack of old Time Magazines. I draw one over and open it on my lap as I wrestle with opening my banana. I have no real intention of reading it; I just want to appear distracted while I weigh my conversation options. I need to choose my words carefully if I want to convince him to let me tag along.
    I notice the date printed on the issue is from several years ago. The cover story appears to be about some disappearance and presumed murder that sounds vaguely familiar, although there is no picture of the victim on the front, just a dark amorphous silhouette of a man. I flip it open without any real interest as Flint takes a seat in the chair across from me. I raise the banana to my lips and take a small, conservative bite. I'll have to remember to cram as much of the free food as I can fit into my duffle bag before I head out. It's not exactly seemly, but it might mean the difference between survival and failure on the road ahead, especially if he rejects me and I'm forced to go it alone once more.
    My eyes fall to the open page of the magazine and I nearly choke on my breakfast. My grip on the banana releases in surprise, and the piece of fruit falls half-eaten to the floor. Flint sips his coffee and watches me, as if viewing a live sporting event, but he doesn't bend down to retrieve it for me.
    "You have to take me with you," I say finally. My voice is surprisingly steady as I stare harder at the open page, making sure that I am truly processing what I'm seeing. It doesn't sound like a question, or even a suggestion: it's the reality of what's about to happen.
    Flint is unperturbed by my sudden assertiveness. He undresses his muffin slowly and replies, "I don't have to do anything." He sounds convinced of it. "Look. Ana, was it?" I bristle. Has he really forgotten my name already? "You said it yourself. I ride alone."
    "I won't be in the way," I press him. "Really, I think you'll benefit from having me along."
    "Yeah?" He still doesn't sound interested. "How's that?"
    I only have one shot at this. I inhale a deep breath. "Because," I respond, "you'll benefit from me not telling anyone that Silicon Valley's vanished billionaire, Flynn Carter, is still alive."
    It's the exact reaction I was hoping for. Flint goes as still as a stone statue before my eyes, his mug of coffee