We got in, her in the driver's seat and me in the passenger seat. The interior felt warm compared to outside, the faint smell of old leather and coffee wrapping around us. Amelia adjusted her seat three times, then the mirrors, then the seat again.
"Take your time," I said. "There's no rush."
She nodded, hands hovering over the steering wheel like it might bite her.
"Okay," I said. "First things first. Foot on the brake. Good. Now start the engine."
She did, the car coming to life with a low hum that made her stiffen.
"It's supposed to do that," I added as I pulled the handbrake down.
"I know," she said quickly. "I just… wasn't ready for it."
I smiled. "Alright. Ease off the brake just a little. Don't touch the gas yet."
The car crept forward.
"Oh," she said, eyes widening. "It's moving."
"Cars tend to do that," I replied. "You're doing fine. Steer left and follow the lane."
