Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

The List

“I packed for you. Clothes, toothbrush, charger, your weird protein bars you like for no reason.”

There was a pause.

“...You packed for me,” he repeated, like the concept was foreign and mildly alarming. “How did you even—”

"Know you well enough to know what you pack?" I laughed, glancing sideways at him. “It’s not like we haven’t traveled together almost every weekend for the past two years,” I added, smugly.

“Fair enough,” he said with a soft chuckle, settling back into the seat like he was finally letting himself enjoy the mystery.

I merged onto the highway, my playlist already humming through the speakers—something chill, a little old-school, the kind of vibe that made the world outside the windows feel cinematic. Charles stretched out, one arm draped casually along the edge of the door, the other fiddling with the volume.

“You’re being weirdly calm about all this,” I said after a few minutes, stealing a glance at him.

“I’m trying something new,” he replied. “It’s called trusting my fiancée.”

I grinned. “Bold choice.”

We drove for a while like that, just the music and the shifting colors of the sky. Dusk was settling in, painting everything in soft pinks and warm golds. The longer we drove, the more the air changed—less city, more open space, the kind that made your shoulders relax without realizing it.

Charles turned toward me again, brows raised. “So... we’re going north? Or east? Just trying to figure out if I should be expecting a beach or a mountain.”

“Neither,” I said simply.

“That helps,” he muttered.

“Are we sleeping indoors?”

“Maybe.”

He groaned dramatically, but the smile on his face didn’t fade. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Immensely.”

------

After another thirty minutes of winding roads and soft conversation, I turned the wheel onto a narrow dirt path that broke off from the main road. The sudden shift in terrain made Charles lift his head from where it had been resting against the seat, his brow furrowing as he peered through the windshield.

“Amy…” he said cautiously, eyes scanning the path ahead. “Are we lost or…?”

“Trust the process,” I replied, smirking.

The road was bumpy, but manageable, and soon the landscape began to change around us. On either side, rows upon rows of grapevines stretched out into the horizon, perfectly aligned and kissed by the fading golden light. The hills rolled gently in the distance, dotted with old cypress trees and warm stone houses.

Charles kept his eyes glued to the window, his expression softening with every passing second. The golden light bathed everything in a kind of magic glow—like a postcard come to life. I stole a glance at him, watching the way he rested his elbow on the door and let his fingers tap idly against his chin, fully entranced.

“So…” he started, not looking away from the view, “are we doing wine tasting or something?”

“Not exactly,” I said, teasing. “But there will be wine.”

He finally turned to me, eyebrows raised in a mix of hope and suspicion. “You're being deliberately vague.”

“And you're still playing along, which says a lot.”