Chapter 4 — The Seeds of Reflection

Mia

Jake had the audacity to whistle. Not a quiet, under-his-breath hum, but a full-blown, off-key rendition of some song I vaguely recognized from his playlist. It grated on my nerves, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him. I sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the streetlights blurred by in a hazy rhythm. His pizza delivery jacket—still faintly smelling of oregano and cheap cheese—was draped over my lap, its coarse fabric scratching against the sleek satin of my emerald dress. The juxtaposition was almost laughable, if I were in the mood to laugh.