Your Dad's Perfect
Izzy
The drive has been quiet, not in a tense way, but calm, almost soothing. Still, after an hour, I’m bored out of my mind. The hum of the road and the monotony of the scenery are lulling me into a near trance. My fingers tap idly against the doorframe, the rhythm unsteady as I try to shake off the restlessness creeping in. Zade glances at me, his lips twitching into a small smirk.
“You should’ve prepared for the drive, Izzy,” he mutters, his tone teasing but warm.
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