That’s because you were busy pretending to be an F1 driver.
I can’t answer him yet because I still have to puke.
When I finally straighten, the world is looking a little better. The forest in front of me is beautiful. It helps distract me from the fact that I’m going to have to climb back in that car. Maybe I’ll live in this forest.
But I would miss Alexander too much.
Warm hands rest on my shoulders and begin to knead gently. Miles’s thumbs find the tight knots that have been bothering me for weeks.
“Are you feeling a little better?”
“Unnnghhh,” I mumble. I feel like I could melt into a puddle right here.
He keeps rubbing.
“I didn’t know you got carsick. I’m sorry. I’ll drive slower for you.”
He keeps rubbing my shoulders, and I wonder how it’s physically possible to go from the extreme of wanting to curl up into a ball and quit to thinking I’ve arrived in heaven.
“This. Is. Amazing,” I sigh.
Miles chuckles and moves his hands up to rub my neck, sending tingles all over my body. It feels like my head is so light that it might float off by itself.
“You have magic hands,” I murmur.
He doesn’t say anything; he simply moves his hands up to rub my head. His fingers are combing through my hair. I don’t know if my legs will hold me much longer; he’s doing such a good job of turning me into jelly.
“You ready to go?” he finally asks. “I’ll get you a Mountain Dew out of the back.”
“I don’t think I ever want this to stop.”
Miles laughs and drops his hands. I run a hand over my face and hope there’s no obvious drool before I turn around. “You brought Mountain Dew?”
He smiles sheepishly. “Not only for you. Turns out, you’re a bad influence, and I’ve started enjoying drinking it too.”
I grin at that. “Happy to be of service.”
“We’re only about forty-five minutes away. Only a few more curves, and then it will straighten out. I’ll go slow.”
“Thank you. Sorry. I don’t usually drive on such curvy roads.” I reluctantly follow him back to the car and climb in.
Miles reaches behind his seat and pulls out a bottle of Mountain Dew from an insulated bag. “Here, this’ll get rid of the taste.”
“You’re the best husband ever.” I crack the lid and take a long sip as Miles pulls back onto the road.
“I’m changing my name in your phone to that,” he says.
Luckily, Miles does slow down for the rest of the drive, and we ride with the windows down.
And I start to get suspicious that I might be falling in love with my husband.
When we pull into the campground thirty minutes outside of Sisters, I’m completely sold on the idea of camping.
“It’s gorgeous out here!” I exclaim as Miles parks the car next to a grassy area with some tents set up nearby. “No wonder you love camping.”
“We come here every year. Mom and Dad started the tradition when they were first married, and it slowly grew to include the whole family.”
I glance at the group of tents and see a woman who looks vaguely familiar barreling toward us.
