Jack was a drifter. The first thing you found out about him when you met him all those years ago is that he has a wandering soul. He doesn’t like to be tied down to one place for very long. In fact, that’s why he became a truck driver.

Sometimes Jack brings you along for his little escapades. He enjoys showing you what his world looks like. Everything is different from the road, he’ll tell you. He’s right.

He’s got a bed set up in the cab of the truck, where he and his dog Lance sleep most nights. But on other nights, especially this one, the warm weather tempts him onto the top of his truck trailer. There he sets up a couple of blankets and pillows in a makeshift bed for the night. There, he lies with you and stares up at the stars as you both idly talk about his dreams of becoming a writer.

“I just can’t publish anything,” he says lightly. “I’d be laughed right outta town here if they saw my name on a book cover. Especially on a heap of garbage like a romance novel.”

He laughs softly to himself. For the life of you, you can’t figure out what’s funny. And you don’t think he can, either.

“Maybe I should try writing science fiction, or murder mysteries. Some more masculine, y’know? Something I wouldn’t be embarrassed to have my name printed on.”