Page 51 of Love Me Steadfast
“Naw.” While I walk around the front, she slides across thebench seat. Our eyes connect for an instant through the windshield. I try to hold back my smile at how cute she looks behind the wheel of my truck.
How is it that she gets prettier every time I see her?
I jump into the passenger side and buckle in, but when she pushes the gear shift up, I can tell that she’s in third gear, not first.
“Oops, here,” I say, and put my hand on top of hers and guide the knob back to neutral, then up to first. The contact sends a burst of pins and needles over my skin.
“Okay,” she says.
I let go of the knob and she eases off the clutch pedal. The truck lurches forward so hard my hand flies to the dash. The engine dies.
She slams on the brake, panting. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay. You’ll get it,” I say with a laugh. She’s always so hard on herself. How can I get her to relax a little? “Try again. Can you feel the bite point? That’s when it needs gas.”
She huffs a determined breath. “Right.”
This time, she’s slow on the accelerator, making the truck lurch, but she recovers and we’re cruising down the road, the engine revving higher.
“Now shift into second.” I coach her on what to do with her feet and when. She gets it but then fumbles with the gear shift.
I put my hand on hers again and guide it down. “Gas!” I call out.
She lets go with the clutch too soon and the truck jerks to a stop, throwing us both forward.
Her face scrunches in embarrassment.
I laugh to cover the way my heart is cartwheeling through my chest because how adorable is she right now? “You’re doing great. Try again.”
“How come you don’t call me Charlie?” she asks once she’s cruising along in second. A light rain is starting to fall, dotting the windshield.
I try to catch her eye but she’s focused on the road. “Do you want me to?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. If you don’t like it, tell me.”
A rosy flush works up her neck. “I do…I just…wondered.”
Why is she blushing?
She goes to shift, but it’s headed for first, so I grab the knob and guide it to third just in time.
Maybe it’s the current of electricity sparking between our hands, or maybe it’s the rain distracting her, but Charlotte is sluggish with the gas pedal and the truck lulls like it’s going to stall. She guns it, and we recover, the tires chewing up the gravel.
“Now let’s practice downshifting.” I realize I’ve still got my hand over hers.
“Eep.”
“Charlotte, take a breath.”
She huffs.
I coach her through the steps, then help her find second gear—it’s stiff and takes some force. Shit. Is my tight grip crushing her delicate fingers? I whip my hand away.
The rain is falling harder now. I reach under her arms to get to the wiper switch on the other side of the steering wheel. Her silky hair brushes my neck, making my breath stutter in my chest. The loud scrape of the blades across the glass is like a reprimand, and I lean back.
“Watch the road!” I say just as she steers away from the ditch.
