“Oooh, a waterfa—what? No, Toni, pay attention to the road.” Summer combs her nails harder through the inoffensive lock of hair. Her stomach feels odd, vague fear swirling around in it. “What do you mean, I’m not old? Not compared to the Captain, maybe, but I’m still almost twice your age.”
Toni shrugs and takes his hand off the wheel showing her it’s on autopilot for the moment. “You’re forgetting that if I’m going by my date of birth, I’m 35. I only look like this because dimensional rifts are a bitch and I’m not allowed to go home. So, technically, my dear, I’m about the same age as you.” Placing his hands on the wheel, he lets out a breath of air. “And if you’re so hung up on your age, still, you should know that I don’t care. Do you care that I’m younger than you?”
“Cars shouldn’t drive themselves,” she mutters. “No, not really. Didn’t we already have the argument about how birth date and years lived aren’t the same? It’s not actually relevant, especially not for you. I think you’ve been adult since you were about twelve.” She draws in a deep breath. “My … concern … is how other people will see you. Or me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”