Sylvia finally managed to steer the car out of the parking lot and onto the road, keeping a steady-if timid-pace.


    Other drivers, catching a glimpse of her behind the wheel, seemed to sense the rookie in her and thought better than to honk or cut her off. They just gave her a wide berth.


    About halfway home, the post-work traffic started to thicken. Sylvia''s nerves were fraying. She kept mming on the brakes every time a car merged too close.


    "Sylvia, when was thest time you actually drove a car?" Rupert asked, rubbing his temples. He was getting whish from all her sudden stops.


    Clutching the steering wheel, Sylvia wracked her brain. Eight years ago? That sounded about right, but she didn''t want to admit it. She finally mumbled, "Sophomore year of college."


    Her mom had made sure she got her license early, but she''d never owned a car- when would she have practiced?


    "Alright, just pull over for a second," Rupert said, his toneced with rare exasperation.


    Sylvia eased the car to the curb.


    Rupert hopped out, walked around, and slid into the driver''s seat. He buckled up, cool as ever.


    His presence right beside her made her even more jittery. She nced at him. "So... what now?"


    A smirk appeared on Rupert''s lips. He gently turned her chin toward the windshield. "Now you watch the road. Take a right up ahead."


    "Okay," she muttered.


    Sylvia kept her hands on the wheel, but her mind was a mess. She just followed Rupert''s directions and hoped for the best.


    The car crept along at a snail''s pace.


    Rupert didn''tin. He just quietly told her where to go, never once criticizing her for driving his fancy car like it was a bumper car at the carnival.


    Atst-miraculously-they pulled into his garage without a scratch.


    "We made it," Sylvia exhaled, relief flooding her. The thought of denting a car that probably cost more than her college tuition had haunted her the whole drive.


    Rupert didn''t rush to get out. He checked his watch and said, "Congrats, Sylvia. That thirty-minute drive only took you one hour and three minutes."


    Sylvia shot back, "Uncle Rupert, at least I got you here safe and sound. I should


    Rupert suddenly doubled over, coughing into his fist so hard she thought he might throw up.


    Didn''t Chris say concussions could cause dizziness and nausea?


    Sylvia bit back her retort, got out, and hurried around to the passenger side, opening the door to help him.


    "Uncle Rupert, let me help you inside."


    "Mm," Rupert grunted, letting her


    guide out of the car. But as


    soon as he stood, he


    an arm


    around her waist, pulling herinto his


    side.


    Sylvia froze, wrapped in his warmth and the subtle scent of his cologne. "What are


    you doing?"


    "Aren''t you supposed to help me?" Rupert replied, deadpan.


    "


    She had noeback-she just let him keep his arm around her as she led him up the steps.


    Inside, she settled him on the living room couch and dropped his bag of meds on the coffee table.


    She checked the prescription. "You''re supposed to take these after eating."


    Just as she said it, her phone dinged with a message from Orson.


    "Ms. Lloyd, Mr. Rupert still hasn''t had a meal today. The housekeeper''s off, so I hope you can help out."


    She shot right back: "No way, your Mr. Rupert can cook for himself! Don''t try to trick me!"


    Orson replied with a smirking emoji.


    Rupert nced at her phone, then


    got up, ignoring her confusion. "Aren''t they for after a meal? I''m hungry anyway-I''ll fix something." He coughed and headed for the kitchen.


    Sylvia wasn''t about to let herself get roped into dinner duty. She''d gotten him home safe; her job was done.


    She stood, polite but firm. "Well, I''ll head out then. See you, Uncle Rupert."


    She''d just made it to the foyer and was slipping on her shoes when a crash rang out from the kitchen-a


    dish by the sound of it, shattering on the tile.


    She hesitated, then rushed in, shoes forgotten.


    "Uncle Rupert-"


    As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling


    her back against his chest.


    She could feel his breath warm against her ear as he murmured, "Leaving


    already?"


    Sylvia shot him a sideways re. "Uncle Rupert, you''re ying dirty."


    "All''s fair in love and war," he quipped.


    Before she could retort, his hand cupped her cheek, and he bent down, pressing


    his lips softly-yet insistently-to hers.