His Little Flower (Felix and Flora) novel Chapter 66

Chapter 66 

The rain had finally relented. It was barely a drizzle, now. And I was happy to get out of the car. Inside the car, the silence between the two of us was thick enough to cut with a knife. Water droplets slid down the car windows as I looked outside. 

Felix, his jaw clenched tight, stared resolutely at the windshield. My fingers tracing circles on the worn leather seat, I felt the tension crackling in the air like 

electricity. 

“So,” he finally grunted, breaking the strained silence. “Where do you live?” 

His voice, rough and laced with a hint of annoyance, grated on my nerves. 

“I’m fine walking 

ng now,” I retorted. “Thanks for the ride, but you don’t need to drive me home.” 

“Walking?” He cut me off, a harsh edge creeping into his voice. “You’re drenched and dirty. You’re going to get sick. Shut up and just tell me.” 

I looked down at 

at my dirty hands. I told him my address. 

Felix sighed heavily. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

There was a grudging kindness in his voice, a flicker of the sweet, caring boy I used to know beneath the gruff exterior he had on now. I mean, he had the gruff exterior before, too. It just wasn’t ever directed at me. 

He nodded curtly, the engine purring to life as he put the car in gear. The silence returned, heavy and suffocating. I stole a glance at him, my eyes tracing the lines etched on his face, the weariness in his eyes. He looked so different now. But still the same. Older and wiser, but he still had the earnestness he used to in his face. 

Suddenly, the car swerved, narrowly avoiding a pothole. Felix cursed under his breath, reaching for the glove compartment. He pulled out a tissue box, his hand brushing against mine as he reached across the seat. 

The touch, fleeting as it was, sent a jolt through my body. A blush crept up my neck, warming my cheeks. I watched, mesmerized, as his fingers grazed my knee, my skin against his fingers. It sent bolts and bolts of electricity up my leg. 

His eyes met mine for a second. We both acknowledged the little spark we had felt. Things had changed so much, but they really hadn’t. My body reacted to him like maybe he owned me. 

He handed me the box, and quickly withdrew his hand. “Clean yourself up,” he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. 

I took the tissues, her fingers brushing his again. This time, it wasn’t a fleeting touch, but before he quickly withdrew his hand, there was a lingering caress that left me breathless. I didn’t know if it was intentional at all. I averted my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I could almost hear it. 

The silence stretched again, punctuated only by the rhythmic tick of the turn signal. Then, Felix pulled over to the side of the road, crunching on the gravel. 

the car tires 

I watched him silently, wondering what he was doing. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I could feel my throat scratch. I was going to be so sick tomorrow. 

He didn’t answer, only unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Before I could protest, he was beside my door, his tall figure casting a long shadow over my seal. 

Did 

he want me t 

to get out? I began to grab my stuff so it would be easy to just leave once he asked me to. 

He opened up the door to my side. When he saw my purse in my hands, he raised his eyebrows quizzically. 

“Keep it in the back.” He ordered. I obeyed without a word, wondering what he was up to. 

He knelt down slowly, his gaze meeting mine. “Let me see your hand,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle. 

Oh. 

Reluctantly, I held out my injured palm. Slowly, slowly I extended it toward him. He took my fingers lightly, holding my hand up to his gare. I couldn’t believe this was happening. This small, sweet gesture, and I was feeling euphoric. I didn’t even remember any more if I was hurt or not, or where I was 

Chapter 66 

hurt. He examined my hand with a practiced eye. 

He reached toward the glove compartment again, and pulled out a small first–aid kit from inside it, the worn leather familiar to my eyes. He had had this one for many years. He cleaned the scrape with a practiced hand, his movements gentle but efficient. The antiseptic stung, and I hissed in pain. When I made a sound, his eyes flew up to my face. He didn’t say anything and only stared at me. It was enough to distract me. 

As he finished, our eyes met again. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a flicker of something I hadn’t seen in years. Care. Concern. Something. 

Then, he quickly looked away, his face hardening. 

“Alright,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “Back in the car. Let’s get you home.” 

He stood up, his hand brushing against mine once more. I felt a spark jump between them, a charged wire connecting us. But before I could say anything, he was already back in the driver’s seat, the engine purring back to life. 

The rest of the drive was a blur. The tension, once suffocating, had morphed into something else, a charged current that crackled between us. I felt like a live wire, buzzing with a mix of fear, excitement, and a strange sense of longing. I wanted to reach out and touch him. To lightly caress his face, bo touch his hair. To tell him thank you. 

But I didn’t do any of that. 

As we approached my neighborhood, the familiar streets and dilapidated buildings came into view. 

I suddenly felt a desperate need to escape, to melt back into the shadows before he saw this my new life. 

I really didn’t want him to see where I lived. He’d pity me. Or worse, be disgusted. 

“Stop the car,” I asked him suddenly. He looked toward me casually. “Why?” 

“This is fine. I can walk from here. I live nearby.” 

He looked to the side, “This is the middle of the road.” 

I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got it from here.” 

He didn’t pay me any heed, and continued driving. I shouldn’t have told him my correct address in the first place. 

Rain–slicked streets glistened under the sickly glow of streetlights. We were nearing my neighborhood, a stark contrast to the sleek sterility of his world. Every peeling wall, every overflowing bin, every graffiti–scarred wall felt like an accusation. I felt…shame. I didn’t feel it usually. This was my home now. But now with him, the stark contrast in our lives felt more pronounced than ever! 

He hadn’t said a word, his silence heavier than any criticism. His jaw, usually slackly resting on his knuckles, was clenched tight, muscles bunching beneath his skin, I could almost hear the judgment of the area simmering behind his steely gaze. More than judgment, pity. 

He looked at me, and then began watching the area again. Me, and then the surroundings. I pretended I didn’t know what he was thinking. 

The car shuddered to a stop in front of my house. It was small and rusty. An old construction. Its paint, once a cheerful blue, had faded to a dusty grey, the chipped iron gate was a health hazard. One scratch and you’d need the hospital from all the blood that would go in your bloodstream. It was humble, held together by grit and duct tape, but under Felix’s scrutiny, it felt like a shack. 

He shifted gears, the engine throbbing impatiently. Words stuck in my throat, choked by the weight of shame, the sting of his unspoken disapproval. Finally, I managed a dry rasp, “So, home sweet home.” I sang, fake cheer apparent in my voice. Thanks for the ride. I’m really grateful.” 

His eyes, the green pools filled with part sympathy and part anger, met mine. “This is where you live?” he drawled, his voice laced with bitter