Page 83 of Chasing You

I just smile in response before she turns around and stops dead in her tracks. “Is that…?”

“Yup.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide before they fall back on my truck that is parked out front of the hotel.

“No way,” Marina blurts out. “How is this here?” She looks with wide eyes at the same truck I had when she first knew me. I kept it at my Sorrento house to use on holidays since it was the place I went to more than anywhere else.

“I got it driven here.”

“You have too much money,” she jokes.

“How else was I going to get around?” I ask.

Her face contorts into a frown. “Uhhh, walk? This place is tiny.” She rounds the passenger side of the car, the door squeaking as she opens it.

“Nah, I just thought I may as well work on it while I have the time,” I say. “I started before the accident.”

“You still haven’t fixed her up?” Marina looks into the back as if she’ll see the progress—or lack there of—that I’ve made in the last four years sitting on the back seat.

“I’ve been busy.”

That quiets her questions. As if reminding her what I’ve been doing all this time—the job that took me away from her.

I tap the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

“What?” she asks, but she floats around to the driver's side regardless. “I can’t drive stick.”

“I’ll teach you,” I say as I pass her on my way to the passenger side.

“Right now?”

“You got anywhere else to be?” I ask, looking at her over the hood of the rusty blue truck, hoping her answer is no.It might need a paint job too.

She just smiles in answer, sliding into the driver’s seat. I jump in the passenger side, the doors slamming shut.

I reach into the center console, pulling out a piece of candy and throwing it in my mouth before I hear a chuckle from beside me.

I look up to see Marina with a smile curving the corner of her mouth as she shakes her head. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

I smile. “Yeah, I guess. You want one?”

“Of course I do.” She reaches over and grabs a sweet for herself, as if it’s the most natural thing for her to do, and something about that warms me from the inside out. I like it when we feel like us. When we fall into this dynamic that we know so well.

“Okay,” she says after swallowing her candy. “Where the fuck do I even start?”

“Seatbelt might be good,” I say.

She looks at me, pointing at me like I’m a genius. “Right!” She buckles herself in. “What’s next?”

“Can you reach the pedals?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, she just adjusts the seat, wrenching it forward until her chest is nearly pressed against the steering wheel. “Now I can.”

“God, I forget how small you are sometimes,” I mutter.

“Please get on with the teaching,” she raises her eyebrows at me and I can’t help but grin.

I clear my throat, trying to focus. “Use your left foot to press the clutch all the way to the floor. Keep your right on the brake.”

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