Bella
We pulled onto a gravel path that crunched under the tires.
We had driven for about an hour, closer to Pinehill than the city.
Miro parked near a chain-link fence surrounding an open clearing that had paths marked along the edges, including a footpath that led to the center.
The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and cool earth when he opened my door and helped me out, his hand lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary. He grabbed a duffle bag from his trunk, as if he always had it in there, before retaking my hand.
“This is my secret spot,” he said with a small smile as he led me through a gap in the fence. “I come here when things get too heavy. No people, no expectations. Just me and the ball.”
When we got to the center of the field, he sat the bag down and pulled o
