He’d taken women for rides before, but she fit. Her feet landed where they were supposed to, her hands were around his waist, but holding, not gripping or locked tight. When they took a turn, they leaned together, and when they were on a long straight stretch, she wasn’t afraid to rest against his back. He paid close attention to the road, taking no risks, giving her no reason to doubt her trust in him as a passenger. The highway to Azilda was far from perfect, and he made sure that they didn’t hit anything that would interrupt their smooth ride. The girl he knew was fading away, and the reality of the woman Miranda had become was replacing it. He didn’t know this lady he’d met, but she still felt so familiar that it was mind-boggling. He felt as though they had found a completely different place to exist separate from the rest of the world, a space that was easy and comfortable. Maxwell had never experienced anything like it, but he still reminded himself of one simple fact – they had just met.
