Tallahassee, it turns out, is landlocked, and the closest beach an hour's drive away.
Emma really doesn't mind. All she feels is the security of the box of cash they got for the watches, safely tucked into an envelope in her duffel bag. the gentle pressure of Neal's hand on her thigh, her wrist, her waist, seemingly unable to stop touching her in some way, and the serene, bubbling joy of the thought that just this once, things might just go their way.
The luxury of being able to eat hot food again is one they have both looked forward. There's a truck stop diner on the interstate outside of town, and they stop for a long lunch.
It's cramped and the booths are sticky, and the decor incredibly tacky, but the food is the best Emma has ever had. She can't remember the last time she had a piece of fried chicken, three of them even, much less potatoes and vegetables and a whole biscuit to herself.
Their waitress is a dark haired woman in her fifties whose clipped on name tag on the front of her ridiculously orange uniform reads "Dottie". She's kind and attentive, and the three strike up a conversation about where they're headed.
"We got married a few months ago, and we finally got the money to move out of my father's house" Neal explains.
"Any particular reason to pick Florida? Cause a lot of folks don't seem to expect the swamp or the bugs so they hit up Disneyland and take back off"
"It was kind of a flight of fancy" Emma continues "we thought we'd just let fate guide us or something" it does sound pretty stupid right now, but Dottie doesn't seem to think it odd.
They'd both been almost overwhelmed at the menu. Too many months of stolen candy and sandwiches spiced up with pocketed condiments from a variety of restaurants, occasionally broken up the odd value menu hamburgers or day old cookies
Neal teases her for ordering hot chocolate with whipped cream but she doesn't care. The creamy sweetness, and Neal's laugh, warm her from head to toe.
They splurge on dessert, even though Dottie cocks her eyebrow when Neal asks if they have pumpkin pie.
"It's March darlin', we just got apple and peach"
Emma rolls her eyes "Excuse my husband, he was dropped on his head as a baby. We'll have the peach".
Neal's eyes twinkle even as he pouts at her insult, and it keeps up after the waitress returns with their pie.
"What?" Emma asks, stuffing a bite into her mouth. Oh, sweet, juicy sugared peaches, mana from heaven...
"It's just you seem very comfortable calling me your husband now. I thought it was just a good cover"
Emma blushes over her pie. That particular lie, that had come so easily during cons- very rarely did people question a newlywed couple traveling by car- now seemed so incredibly real. Dangerously so.
She distracts him by stealing a bite of his pie. Let them cross that bridge when they come to it.
Neal leaves a generous tip. Emma makes a point to thank Dottie, remembering her own short stint as a server back in Maine, and the woman presses an extra slice of pie in a to go box on them, wishing them luck.
They cross the city limits at 6:25 that evening. Emma writes the time and date down on a yellow notepad that had been left on the diner booth seat. She's never been the kind to keep a journal, but she thinks that now, when her real life is about to begin, that she'll want to remember the important things.
March 29, 6:25 PM.
It's warm, unexpectedly so for spring, especially to Emma, a lifelong survivor of frigid Maine. Warm enough that they decide to spend their last night in the Bug, parked near a playground. They make love with both the windows rolled down, and after, Emma stretches her bare feet out the door into the night air.
Neal is laid out underneath her, one finger playing with her hair. They're both still mostly naked, but Emma pulled a blanket over them just in case anyone came by.
"Give me that notepad you had" Neal says.
When Emma reaches under the front seat armrest for it she remarks "You better not be making a list of all the places we've done it".
He laughs "But it will such a more fun list now that it'll have more places than the back seat or the front seat"
Emma giggles too "There's the hood- don't forget the hood"
"Or that alley in Tuscon"
"Or that picnic table"
"The park bench was fun"
"Don't forget the ground"
"You liked the ground"
She snorts "I did"
"Cause you weren't the one with bugs crawling up your butt the whole time"
She swats him with the notepad before handing it to him
"If you'd remembered to grab the blanket you wouldn't have had that problem."
She takes off her glasses and tucks them in the glove box before curling back up on Neal's chest.
"Write whatever you want but I'm going to sleep. We'll start apartment hunting tomorrow."
"Too bad it looks like the beach is out of the question now"
"Maybe we can find a place with a pool at least"
And as Emma sleeps, Neal sketches. Emma's feet still stick out the window, accompanied by a perfectly placed palm tree, accompanied by the stars coming out into the deep midnight blue of the night sky.
There are a lot of stars here, more than Neal could usually see in the city. More than he's seen since...
No, he's not going to think about that, not tonight.
The lines flow out from the pen almost with Neal's control it seems. The scene before him, this girl he loves,
sleeping content, reproduced on the lined yellow paper.
More pictures fill the page after he's done. Ridiculous things he knows. Smaller than the first, but dancing around it tantalizingly. A little house, by the ocean. A Christmas tree next to a huge roaring fireplace. A Christmas tree surrounded by a gaggle of faceless children.
Even now, with a chance at a whole new life ahead of him, he knows that these things are just dreams.
He writing the name he has taken in this land at the top of the page. After a moment, he adds Emma's too. Then, seized by compulsion, a title of sorts.
Book of Dreams.
Gently, so as not to wake Emma, Neal returns the pad to the passenger side's floor. He settles back against the door, cushioned by the cheap blankets they've accumulated, and lets himself fall asleep.