Page 66 of Speed Crush

I wanted to thank her. Not just for her first time—but for the way she made me feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just another man in motion.

I didn’t say it then. But maybe I can show it now.

I walk June up to her porch, the cold air turning every breath into fog. She’s bundled in her winter coat, cheeks flushed, looking satiated.

She goes to unlock the door, but I can’t let her go just yet.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low. “Can I swing by tomorrow morning?”

She pauses, keys still in hand. “Swing by?”

I nod toward Cedar Crest Customs. “Your dad’s shop. Tomorrow’s probably slow, right?”

I look down at my hands. My pulse stutters, but I don’t back down. “I figured maybe I could bring coffee. Say hi. Meet your parents, Mack and Vicky.”

Her lips part slightly. “You want to… meet my parents?”

“I don’t know how to express it, June. This moment I’m feeling particularly overwhelmed by you.”

“So, I want to come by and thank them. For raising someone like you.”

She blinks, visibly stunned.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel something raw unfurl in my chest—like I’m thirteen again, asking to hold a girl’s hand at the movies. Silly. Shy. A little too earnest.

I wonder if I overstepped—if this is too much, too fast.

But something flickers in her eyes. Something that looks a lot like maybe.

Then she leans in.

And kisses me.

It’s not wild or needy or rushed like earlier. It’s careful. Slow. Like she’s matching the words I’m on the verge of saying with a truth she’s not ready to say aloud too.

I cup her jaw, keep her close. Whisper against her lips, “You mean more than I know how to explain.”

Snow starts to fall around us—light, powdery. The kind that makes you feel like time just slowed down for a moment. Like the world’s giving you a breath to remember something good.

She holds my gaze in that magical moment, then says softly, “Yeah. I think they’d like that.”

I pull her close and squeeze her into my arms, my heart beating so fast it feels like it might give me away. But her hand curls against my chest—steady, grounding, like she already knows.

Just her and me, in this quiet pocket of the world, and the dizzy, terrifying certainty that this isn’t pretend. It’s starting to feel real.

“Goodnight, Songbird,” I whisper against her mouth.

She opens the door, glancing back once, and then disappears inside.

I don’t move until I see her bedroom light flicker on upstairs.

Next morning, I show up early. The cold hits me sharp when I step out of the car, but it evaporates when I see the bay doors already rolled open.

I totally overthought breakfast for a full twenty minutes.First it was flowers. Then donuts. Then this gift basket from the fancy market in town, loaded with jam jars and hand-poured syrup. I even thought of bringing F1 merch to pass around, like a complete idiot.

Then I panicked—what if breakfast offends them?Like I’m trying too hard. Or like I don’t think they can feed themselves.

And that’s when it hit me.

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