In a flash, I run to my bedroom to change into my hiking clothes and braid my hair. My movements are hurried as I finish filling up my water bottle, just in time for another text from Misha to ping through.
Here.
When I open the door, he’s there, leaning casually against the frame, with a lopsided grin spreading across his face. The sight of him, so relaxed and carefree, sends that now-familiar flutter through my chest.
“Ready?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with a hint of adventure.
“Just need to slip on my shoes,” I respond, stepping back to grab my hiking boots, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.
“Take them with you, but for now, put on sneakers,” Misha comments as I’m about to slip into them. “It’s less of a mess in the car for Oliver to complain about, and your feet will thank me later when we switch back from the hiking boots.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I put on my sneakers. “Oliver will complain about the car?”
“Oh, he so will when we’re going in there with the dirty boots. He’d have us vacuuming it out if we brought one speck of dirt inside. And I don’t know about you, but I hate vacuuming.”
Putting on my jacket and grabbing my backpack, I step out to Misha and close the door behind me, locking it with my smartwatch.
“I have a Hoover robot, so yes, hoovering is the worst,” I agree wholeheartedly.
“God, you sound so British.” Misha chuckles, taking my hand as he pulls me to the elevator.
Today, I’ll let myself enjoy his constant affection and touches.
Not only could I use some comfort right now, but he’s so good at providing it.
“Duh, that’s because IamBritish,” I mutter as we step inside.
Misha tugs at my braid. “You’ve got that posh London accent that makes everything sound like a royal decree,” he teases, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leans closer. “I love it.” I feel a blush creep up my cheeks in time with another flutter in my stomach, and my breath hitches. “And it’s so easy to make you blush. So damn cute.”
I manage a faint smile as I nudge his shoulder, making him chuckle, but I’m relieved when the elevator doors open to the garage.
Stepping out into the cool, dimly lit space, I catch sight of the white Tesla parked a few feet away. Misha keeps hold of my hand, leading me toward the car with easy confidence.
He opens the passenger door for me and grabs my shoes and backpack before I slide into the seat. “Thanks,” I murmur, trying to steady my voice as I buckle up.
Misha closes the door with a thud and walks to the trunk to put away our stuff before he makes his way to the driver’s side, sliding in.
The car starts quietly, and soon, we’re gliding out of the garage, the city lights blurring past us as we head toward the open road. The passing streetlights cast shifting shadows across his face, emphasizing his contemplation as he navigates the quiet streets.
Misha glances at me, his brown eyes almost black in the dim light. “Why were you awake?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, almost blending into the background noise of the radio quietly playing.
I shift in my seat, clasping my hands in my lap to still their nervous twitching. “Who said I was awake?” I respond, attempting to deflect with a half-hearted smirk. The memory of Mother’s harsh words echoes in my ears and still lingers too close to the surface.
I’m not ready to dive into that with Misha—or anyone.
He doesn’t seem convinced and gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Did I wake you then?”
“No, you didn’t,” I admit, my gaze drifting out the window. The reflection of my face in the glass looks back at me, more tired and strained than I’d like to admit.
“So, why were you awake?” he persists, his voice gentle yet insistent, as if he’s peeling back layers he knows are there but hasn’t yet seen.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I murmur, almost too quietly, hoping to leave it at that.
“Something bothering you?” His question hangs in the air, a mild but unwavering challenge.
“No,” I lie, a reflex more than anything. The word feels heavy on my tongue, loaded with all the things I keep buried.
Misha nods, seemingly accepting my answer, but his next question is softer, more direct. “How are you, Amelia?”
