Revolutions Per Minute: A Love Story at Seven Thousand

The speedometer needle trembled at 7,000 RPM as Sarah gripped the wheel, Marcus white-knuckling the passenger seat.

“You’re insane!” he shouted over the engine’s scream.

“And you’re a coward!” she fired back, downshifting into the hairpin turn.

They’d been racing around this track—and around each other—for three years. Every argument redlining their relationship, every kiss bringing them back to idle. Tonight’s fight: he’d accepted a job across the country without asking her.

“I can’t keep spinning my wheels with you!” The engine roared higher.

“Then brake!” His hand found hers on the gearshift.

She did. Sudden silence as gravel crunched beneath them, pulled over on the shoulder. In the quiet, their breathing synchronized.

“I love you,” he whispered. “That’s why I’m terrified.”

“I hate that you’re right,” she admitted. “But I love you more.”

The tachometer dropped to zero. Sometimes the fastest way forward is standing still together.

She restarted the engine—gentler this time.

“Where to?”

“Wherever we shift into next,” he smiled. “Together.”