“We’ll take it easy,” I promise, starting to walk. “One step at a time.”
We make slow progress down the rocky path. His weight presses down on me, but it’s manageable.
Misha tries to lighten the mood. “Wow, you’re stronger than you look.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I huff, focusing on each careful step. The uneven ground makes it challenging, but we find a rhythm, pausing every so often to rest.
After what feels like an eternity, we finally reach the car. I make him stand beside it so he can lean on it to open his backpack and retrieve the key, opening the car. I put our backpacks away and change into my sneakers.
Misha sits in the driver’s seat, his face contorting in pain as he tries to move his injured ankle.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can drive like this,” he grits out, frustration evident in his voice. The Tesla is an automatic, but he’s hurt his right ankle. “Do you have a license?”
“Uh, yeah, I have a driver’s license,” I murmur. “But I didn’t drive much back home. And when I did, it was on the other side of the road. You know, London and all.”
After August helped me get my license, I may have driven twice in my life.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course, British. Well, you’ll have to do it anyway. I can’t move my ankle.”
“I have no idea how to drive a Tesla.”
He laughs again, the sound light despite the situation. “You’ll figure it out. It’s just a car, after all.”
Yeah, and I know so much about cars in general.
I take a deep breath and help him out and around the hood so he can sit in the passenger seat before I slide behind the wheel. The interior feels futuristic, and I fumble with the controls for a moment before managing to start the car.
We pull onto the empty road, and I do my best to keep the car steady, though it’s clear I’m not very skilled at it.
“See, you’re doing fine,” Misha teases, his voice playful. “Just don’t crash us.”
“Very reassuring,” I mutter, but a smile tugs at my lips. The road stays mercifully empty, and I start to relax a bit, getting the hang of the smooth, silent ride.
We drive slowly down a road lined with vibrant flowers and tall grass swaying in the breeze. Misha lowers his window, letting in the cool air, which is a welcome relief from the heat of the sun beating down on us. I follow suit, lowering my window as well, and the fresh scent of grass and air wafts into the car.
As we drive, Misha lets his fingers glide over the tops of the tall grass, closing his eyes and looking so peaceful. It makes me happy to see him like that.
I hated the pain in his features.
As we approach a deserted crossroads, I bring the car to a halt, even though there isn’t another vehicle in sight.
Better safe than sorry.
Misha leans out his window and plucks a single yellow wildflower from the side of the road. Turning to me with a grin, he carefully tucks it behind my ear.
“There,” he says, his eyes sparkling as he admires his handiwork. “Perfect.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I laugh, playfully swatting his arm.
He grins, rubbing his arm dramatically. “Hey, watch it! I’m injured, remember?”
I shake my head, smiling. “Oh, you poor thing. How ever will you survive?”
“With you around, I think I’ll manage.”
My heart.
I start to drive again, and he doesn’t say anything for a long while, but I feel his eyes lingering on me. I glance over at him, a blush creeping up my cheeks for the hundredth time today. “What? What is it?”
