"Morning," Vince says, his deep voice cutting through my existential crisis.
"Morning," I manage, hoping I don't sound as stunned as I feel.
He drives us in a calm, sleepy silence, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows through the trees as we pass. It's peaceful. Almost nostalgic.
I'm not used to changing up my routines. The last time I'd been in a car with someone this early, it was my dad driving me to school.
That thought brings a pang of sadness I wasn't expecting. My dad doesn't talk to me anymore. Said it was because of my "choices." My mom still insists he'll come around someday, but I don't believe her. She always seems to take his side, and it feels like she's made her choice too.
The memory tugs at my heart. As a kid, I'd barely been able to see over the window in his old green pickup truck, watching the trees blur past under the streetlights. Those moments had felt safe. Simple.
This car is nothing like that truck, but looking up at the sky through the Porsche's passenger window brings back the same feeling of being small in a vast world.
"Hey, Andy, you okay?" Vince's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I jolt a little, blinking. "Yeah, I'm okay."
He glances at me, his warm smile softening the sharp edges of his features. "Let me guess—you scared?"
I frown. "What? Scared?"
"Yeah, scared I'm about to completely smoke you on this run—"
I roll my eyes so hard it's a miracle they stay in my head. "You're ridiculous."
He laughs, and I can't help but laugh with him. His teasing is childish, but it's also disarming.
"Thanks for doing this," I say, quieter this time.
"Doing what?"
"Driving. Coming to pick me up. It's nice of you."
He doesn't say anything right away, but then a grin breaks across his face. "Andy, I'm totally going to fucking smoke you on this run—"
I let out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, punching him lightly in the arm. "Quit it."
The contact makes my face heat, but Vince just laughs harder, his smile wide and genuine.
For a second, I think maybe he doesn't notice my blush. But then he glances at me, his dark eyes twinkling with humor.
Yeah. He definitely notices.
I don't know if we're friends yet, and this feels a lot like a date. So had our lunch. Is this how making new friends always feels, or am I overthinking again? Socially, I'm pretty rusty. I can't remember what this is supposed to feel like anymore.
After high school, I sink into isolation so deep it feels like a different lifetime. Back then, I go on dates that never work out, eventually giving up entirely. Then come ten years of shutting myself off from everyone... avoiding friends, ignoring family, spending weeks at a time holed up in my room. I'm not letting myself go back there again. Not ever.
Vince turns left at the light, passing a sign that reads Warner Park.
"We're here," he says casually, pulling me from my thoughts as he smoothly maneuvers the Porsche into a parking spot that seems too small for the car, yet he makes it look effortless.
The engine cuts off with a final, satisfying purr that leaves a sudden vacuum of silence in its wake. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the trees, the worldoutside the car slowly coming into focus. Warner Park stretches before us, a vast expanse of greenery bathed in the soft glow of dawn.
Vince kills the headlights, plunging us into deeper shadow, and I realize how intensely I'd been staring out the window, lost in the maze of my own thoughts.
He's watching me, I can feel it, his gaze heavy in the confined space.
When I finally turn to meet his eyes, there's something unreadable there—amusement, maybe, or something deeper I can't quite figure out.
