Chapter Four

Today was a bad day.

Timber scrunched up her face at the flashback of hitting the tree as she stared at her mangled car in the tow lot.

Slowly, she walked around the front of it to the driver's side. The door was gone, and the front end had been crunched up into the driver's space. She'd been sitting there. And now she was walking upright, with no pain other than the burn on her arm. She'd never believed in miracles before, but this felt pretty important.

It was impossible not to feel lucky, looking at that car and knowing she survived something horrific.

She was pretty sure she owed Wreck more than a Slurpee and some cash for the dent in his truck.

Timber didn't know why she was shaking, or why her eyes burned with tears she was desperate to keep inside. She didn't know why she felt a hole in her chest. Seeing her totaled car—and insurance had deemed it totaled—and truly realizing that Wreck had plucked her out of the Grim Reaper's hands, she felt overcome with emotion.

With a quick glance to make sure no one was around, she stepped closer to the car and knelt down, pressing her hand on the mangled metal beside the steering wheel to steady herself, and noticed something sitting in the cupholder.

Timber froze, and couldn't believe her eyes. No.

Slowly, she leaned into the car, squeezing past the tightness of the driver's seat, and pulled the plastic baggie of candy from the cupholder.

It was all reds, oranges, and pinks. No yellows.

There was a folded piece of notebook paper inside. With trembling hands, she pulled it out and opened the note.

You're still breathing. Everything will be okay.

Wreck

She closed her eyes against the burning tears and rolled her head forward, rested it on her forearm against the driver's seat. She blew out three long, steadying breaths.

Wreck had been here. He'd checked on her car. He'd foreseen the hard moment and reminded her that her life wasn't over.

When she felt steady again, she pushed off the car and stood, turned, clutching the candy and the note to her chest, and nearly ran into someone.

She looked up, startled, to find the man who had saved her. "Wreck," she whispered.

It had been a week since she'd seen him, though she'd looked for him during every errand she ran, and in every man's face who passed her on the street.

"I was just going to leave the candy, but I couldn't leave," he said, shifting his weight to the other side. He pointed to her face. "You're crying." Slowly, he slid his hands behind his back in a formal gesture, straightened his spine, and lifted his chin higher into the air. "Would you like a moment to compose yourself?"

Awkwardly, she wiped her damp cheeks, but two more tears spilled. She wiped her cheeks again and hung her head. "It's hard seeing the aftermath. I think I was supposed to die that night."

He cleared his throat and looked up at the sky, as if searching for inspiration. "I didn't want you to do this part alone. I didn't think your parents would be here."

"Oh." She swallowed hard and looked back at the scrap-metal car she'd nearly died in, then back to him. "I haven't even talked to them. Sasha offered to come with me on her day off, but it's not for a few days, and the insurance company wanted the car towed to the junkyard quick. I'm tough, anyway."

His eyes dipped to the tears streaming down her cheeks. She huffed a soft laugh and hung her head so he wouldn't see her weak moment. "If you would've shown up in ten minutes, I would have been all put back together again."

"Maybe I like this moment better than the put-together one."

Startled by his admission, she dragged her gaze up to him. He stood there with earnestness in his eyes and a grim set to his mouth. He held her gaze completely captured, but broke the moment and looked at the car. "Why is your insurance company making you pay the tow fee?"

"I don't know. I've never done this before. It's a small-town insurance. They cut me a check though. It was for less than I thought the car was worth, but that's okay. Looks like I'll be car shopping."

He rocked back on his heels and feigned disinterest. "Sounds horrid."

She surprised herself with a laugh. "I haven't gone car shopping in a long time. I've had that one forever. It was paid off." She inhaled deeply and wiped her cheeks again, and this time the tears had stopped. "Maybe I'll find my dream truck."

"Truck?" he murmured. God, he looked so handsome here in the saturated afternoon light. His eyes were a light gold color, almost yellow like flames, and his cheekbones were chiseled. It looked like he hadn't shaved this morning, and perhaps yesterday morning as well. She liked the short scruff. He was taller than she remembered, and wider in the shoulders. Today he wore a loose white tank top and gym shorts, like he'd just come from a workout. His tanned arm muscles were all bulked up and added to his sex appeal. He wore black sneakers, and a black hat that cast a shadow over his eyes and made them glow like flames.

She forced herself to stop checking him out and asked, "Late workout?"

He chuckled and ducked his gaze, pulled his hat off and put it on backward. "I work out between jobs. There's no early or late. It's just whenever I can. My gym is just up the road from here. Figured I would check on your car."

"Good timing," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Crazy that you showed up right when I did."

"I've been here for two hours. Hallie told me what you said in your phone call. I'm not stalking. Again, I just didn't know if you should do this moment alone."

Timber crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the sudden chill that had taken her, lifting gooseflesh on her forearms. She looked at her car again and shook her head. "You just keep seeing me in vulnerable moments, Mr. Itall."

"Maybe you're the one catching me in a vulnerable moment," he said mysteriously.

"I can't imagine you've ever had a vulnerable moment. You are just so…so…"

"So what?"

"Sure of yourself."

He nodded slightly. "I'm glad that's what you see."

"That's not how it is?" she asked.

"Sure. That's exactly how it is." But his voice was hollow.

"I have to go sign the paperwork and pay for the tow," she murmured.

"You aren't paying for it. I've already talked to the tow yard. The paperwork is signed, and I'll tow it myself and save you the fee. Just need to know where your insurance wants it to go. I have a trailer on the back of my truck."

"W-what? How did you sign for the car?"

He shrugged. "Told them I was your husband. You can buy me a Slurpee as a thank-you." The slow smile that took his lips was so sexy and self-assured. Something small and subtle fluttered right in her middle.

He'd said he was her husband? Why did that sound so exciting and naughty and forbidden and interesting all at once? "I can cook," she blurted out.

His left eyebrow arched up. "Cook what?"

"Whatever you like?"

"I am the easiest man on earth to feed. I like it all."

"Anchovies?" she asked.

"I stand corrected. I don't like everything. Anchovies are gross."

She couldn't help the smile on her face. "As a thank-you for hauling Bertha to the scrapyard, I would like to surprise you with a dinner." He parted his lips to answer, but she held up a finger. "Wait. There's rules."

"What are the rules."

"If I have you over, you have to realize I have been traumatized by a man. I rented this house a few months ago with the goal of never having anything uncomfortable happen in there, and so you must be nice to me. No arguing or storming out."

"Ew, was that what your ex did? He was a stormer-outer?" he asked.

"Number two," she said, trying not to laugh at the term "stormer-outer." "If you don't like what I cook, you have to be honest and tell me what I can improve on. I like honesty, I like knowing exactly where I stand, and I like improving."

"Okay. I can do that. I'll be upfront with you right now though, I live on bachelor food. It's corn dogs and pizza rolls and TV dinners at Casa de Wreck. If you made boxed mac and cheese, I would be a fan."

She giggled. "Fair enough. Number three, this is not a booty-call dinner. There is no pressure on either of us to move too fast. We can be buds if buds are what we're meant to be."

He inhaled deeply and nodded, considering. "I'm not into pushing women too far too fast, nor am I looking for a relationship."

"Player?" she guessed.

"I like to call it being a chronic casual-dater," he conceded.

"Same difference."

He belted out a laugh. "Well lucky for us, neither of us is looking for anything more than friendship. We won't have our feelings hurt when you reject my player advances, and then I remind you not to fall for me because I have commitment issues, and also that I'm dangerous."

"Oh yeah, that is a big red flag. Shooting flames is something that I would not be able to bring home to mom and dad."

"Your mom and dad sound like they suck. Maybe you need to bring a flame-thrower to meet them."

His tone had gone serious. Truth be told, she liked that he was protective. Sasha had been understanding to a point, but she still went and visited their parents every chance she got. It was nice just having someone at her back with no eggs in the family-drama basket.

"I'm going to get the truck," he said.

"So…" she called as he walked away. "Is that a yes for dinner?"

"Depends," he said cheekily. "When are you wanting to do this dinner?"

"I was thinking tomorrow?"

"I work until eight."

"Late dinner?"

He searched her eyes, and then nodded once. "I'll think about it."

That was kind of a yes, and with a man like him, it was probably the best she could hope for.

Already, she was putting together a menu in her head. From-scratch chicken parmesan over spaghetti. Roasted vegetables. Tomorrow was farmers' market day in Laramie and she didn't have clients until noon, so she could swing by and get fresh veggies. She could make key lime pie for dessert!

His truck appeared, hauling a big flatbed trailer, and she had a moment of gratefulness that he knew what he was doing. Wreck just seemed like a man who knew how to handle a situation, and if not, he would figure it out.

She was even more convinced of this as he backed the trailer up to the front end of her car like a pro, with just a few feet to spare, and then came around the back of the truck, grabbed some tow rope out of the bed, dropped down in front of her destroyed car, and found a place to hook it. He dragged the length of tow rope to the front of the trailer, hooked it around a two-foot-long piece of metal, and then did something that shocked her.

That man pulled the rope himself and hauled her car onto the trailer. Just pulled it like it weighed nothing. Like it was a bouquet of dandelions. Just…yank.

What. The. Hell.

He was the strongest man in the world, and no one could convince her otherwise.

She stood there with her mouth hanging open wide enough to catch a bug. He wasn't even sweating, or acting like it was a big deal.

He glanced at her and looked back to where he was strapping her car onto the trailer, then looked back quick, like he'd just registered her weird expression. "You good?"

"You just lifted a car onto the trailer. With like…your biceps."

He laughed and looked around, but no one else was out here. "I don't think about it."

"What do you do for work?" she asked. "Are you a bulldozer shifter?"

The chuckle that emanated from him warmed her from the inside out. It was so deep and masculine. Today was the first day she'd really heard him laugh. She liked it. Made her feel special that he thought she was funny enough to let his guard down.

"I build fences."

Okay, that was hot. "I bet you are fantastic about hauling all of your own fence posts."

His handsome smile lingered, and he nodded as he looped a tie-down through a metal ring on the side of the trailer and secured it. "I don't have to ask for help," he admitted.

"Well, I've been working out for months, and I can bench-press the bar."

He tossed his head back and laughed. Hot boy. "Keep working and you'll be up to fifty-five pounds soon."

"Being a human is lame," she muttered.

"It's way better than being a shifter," he argued as he secured another tie-down.

"Disagree. You can control fire and lift buildings. I can burn lasagna and trip over my own feet."

His snickering drew a grin from her. "I thought you said you can cook."

"Well, I have been defeated by lasagna—the one time I tried to make my grandma's recipe."

"I'm suddenly craving lasagna."

"I was going to cook you chicken parmesan, but challenge accepted. I will cook lasagna if you come over and let me repay you for hauling my car and saving my life and stuff."

He grinned. "Are you luring me to your lair?"

"I'm trying," she teased. "You keep playing hard to get."

God, she loved his laugh.

"You know, sirens tempt men to their deaths," he said.

"Lucky for you, my singing sounds like a drowning cat, so no seduction to your death here. I will make you so full you question your whole life, though. No help for it. I have no concept of quantity. It'll probably be enough burnt lasagna to feed you and a hundred of your friends."

"What can I bring?" he asked, leaning his knee on the side of the trailer.

"An open mind and fake compliments. I'm serious when I say I burned the last lasagna. It's my Achilles' heel. It's the one dish that has kicked my ass. It's supposed to be easy. My grandmother is rolling over in her grave just thinking about me trying to cook it again."

"Were you close to your grandma?" he asked curiously.

"She was the best."

"Then you owe it to her memory to get that first experience out of your head and do her recipe justice. Whether I show up or not."

"Thinking about standing me up already?"

"Maybe. I'm a player, remember?"

"Ugh, players are the worst."

"So terrible." But his grin said he was still teasing.

"Fine. I will cook lasagna, and a side salad and vegetables. I will put some extra bait on this hook and let you know that I will also be making my famous from-scratch macaroni and cheese for you to take home and snack on later, and trust me, it ain't like the boxed kind you've been shoveling into your bachelor mouth."

"Siren," he uttered low, narrowing his eyes.

"Macaroni and cheese," she sang, heavy with the shaky vibrato at the end, but couldn't finish without busting out laughing.

"There it is," he said, his eyes going soft. "I like when you're smiling."

"Not sobbing? I hear that brings all the boys a-runnin'."

"It does not. We don't know what to do with those emotions."

"Well, luckily for you, I only cry once a week."

"Once a week?" he asked, looking horrified.

"In my defense, I watch sappy love-stories on TV. They get to me."

"I watch war movies with guns and death. I haven't cried in twenty years."

She made a click sound behind her teeth. "Red flag—not emotionally intelligent. We are not a match. Seduction averted."

He was biting back a smile. Softly, he repeated, "Seduction averted." He looked back at his truck, and then to her. He looked like he wanted to ask her something, but didn't.

She let him sit in the awkward silence for a couple of breaths before she asked, "What?"

"How did you get here?" he asked.

"Oh, I ordered a rideshare."

"Great. You can ride with me to drop your car at the junkyard. They'll want you to sign some paperwork on it."

"Oh, okay." She pursed her lips against the question she really wanted to ask.

Now it was his turn. "What?"

"Are you only asking me to go because of the paperwork?"

He sighed. "You're already being needy."

"Red flag for you? Women needing answers and wanting to know where they stand? Directness makes you uncomfortable?"

He'd grown a wicked glint to his eyes as she was talking, and when she finished, he lifted his chin higher into the air. "I like your directness, actually. As long as you are okay with direct answers back."

She inhaled deeply, splayed her legs in a power stance, and nodded. "Okay, hit me with it. I'm ready."

"I'm not looking for anything. I'm not in a position to pay attention to a woman, and my life is complicated as hell right now. It's not even safe for you to feel interested in me."

"Then why did you bring me flowers? And why the green flames? And why did you show up here today making sure I was taken care of?"

"Maybe it's guilt," he murmured, and now there was no trace of a smile on his face. His expression was slowly turning cold.

She hated it.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly. "Man up and be honest."

His eyebrows arched up. "Man up?"

"Yeah. I don't like the beating-around-the-bush stuff. I don't want to guess at your half-truths. Why are you here?"

He puffed air out of his cheeks and looked around, then gave a little salute and told her, "I'll see you around, Timber."

"Aaah," she said softly as he walked toward the driver's side of his truck. "You're a runner."

"I don't run," he said, turning around. "I'm not scared of anything, so why would I want to run?"

"You are scared," she said, knowing she was pushing him too far, too fast, but unable to help herself. "You're scared of yourself, aren't you?"

He chewed the corner of his lip and glared at her car on the trailer. "If I argue, you'll say I'm being too defensive. Is this how you argue? You bottleneck a conversation until the other person has to say whatever you want them to say?"

She felt slapped. Actually…actually, that sounded fair. She took a few seconds to think on it, and then nodded. "I think you might be right. I have had problems with that before. I'm a therapist, and sometimes it's hard to stop analyzing a person's feelings and motives. It's not fair to do that to you. You're not a client. You are my friend."

"Friend," he repeated suspiciously.

"Sure. Yeah. I would say you are being an amazing friend by doing me this huge favor and taking care of my car. You don't owe me anything, and you don't owe me explanations on what is driving you. I want to know where I stand, but you don't want to tell me where I stand. How do I have more of a right to get what I want than you do? I don't."

He was standing there listening, eyes narrowed. "Is this a trick? A woman trick?"

"No trick. You got me. I'll think about what you said tonight while I'm getting ready for bed, and will probably still be checking myself tomorrow."

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said low.

"I might've. I bottleneck arguments? I can already remember several conversations with people that supports that."

"So you're just…you're going to stop arguing?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry if I was too aggressive. It's something I need to work on."

He took a step back, and then another, narrowed eyes on her. He cleared his throat and said, "You didn't do anything wrong. Seriously. You don't have to apologize. I am not scared of myself, but I am scared of what I'm capable of." He chewed the corner of his lip, lowered his chin, and looked at her with softening eyes. "You almost nailed it. I don't like people getting too close. Plus, I'm on the tail end of a ridiculous week with my Crew. They're all pushing for some let's-all-love-each-other bullshit, and I'm worn out. I came here…" He blew out a breath and rested his hands on his hips. "I came here because I guess you feel like a nice distraction from the hard stuff that is going on."

She couldn't help her smile, so she ducked her gaze to his shoes to hide it. That felt like a big admission for a man like him. She had a strong instinct on these things.

He'd given her something big. Felt like a gift. Like a little peek into the real man.

"Did Hallie give you my number?" she asked.

"She did. I memorized it and saved it into my phone, and I started a text to you a dozen times. Just couldn't seem to send them."

"You were overthinking," she told him. "I would've texted back."

"It wasn't that. It's irresponsible of me to encourage you to build an interest in me. It's dangerous. I was trying to be a good man by deleting the messages before I sent them. You should know, there was effort."

"You showed up here today."

"I told you I was trying to be a good man. Didn't say I was a good man."

God, he was so hot. He was a walking red flag, but red was her favorite color. Her career as a therapist was supposed to teach her to go after emotionally stable, available, upfront men with no secrets, but Wreck was exciting, and challenging, and mysterious. He was like a book she hadn't read the blurb to, and she was just on this random adventure with no preparation.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, or the soothing sensation of his green flames lapping at her skin.

"You're looking at me like you think you can fix me," he gritted out.

"I mean, it would be pretty fun to try."

"Woman, you would break yourself on me. Get in the truck."

"Yes, sir," she said in a giddy voice as she did this silly-looking, high-kneed trot toward the passenger's side of his truck.

"You're ridiculous," he said, but the smile was back in his voice—thank goodness.

"Thank you-oh-ewoooh!" she sang badly, then plugged one ear, closed her eyes, and did some pretty horrific pitch-changes. When she was done, she opened her eyes and grinned at him over the trailer hitch of his truck. "I'm working on my siren song."

Wreck snorted, and she was pretty sure he muttered the Lord's name in vain, but his truck engine was loud, so she could've been mistaken.

By the time he'd finished doing a final check on the trailer tie-downs, she had plugged the aux cord into her phone and queued up a playlist of her favorite women-power artists' dance jams.

"Just make yourself at home," he said as he settled behind the wheel.

"Do we need coffee on the way? I'll pay."

"You need a venti sleepaccino with a double-shot of NyQuil," he teased.

"Don't be jealous. I'm high on life," she said, scrolling through her music to find the perfect song to serenade him with. "Yes!" She reached forward, turned up the volume, and started doing the snake dance, with a clap in between each direction change.

He wasn't hiding his smile very well, and he kept looking over at her just to watch with dancing eyes.

"You know this song. You want to sing it. You sing, I'll dance." Timber bent her arms and did this flapping-bird move in rhythm with the drums. Head bobs were involved.

Now Wreck wore a grin, and as he pulled up to a stoplight, he watched her dance moves the entire red light.

She pointed to him. "Control your boner. We are just best friends."

"Oh, we're best friends now?"

"Best friends forever." She did the wave and shook her chest as she leaned forward, then settled back into the seat. She was the worst dancer on planet Earth, but that had never stopped her from having fun—with the right people, of course.

"I can't even believe you're still single," he joked.

She rolled her fists in fast rhythm, pulling a face of concentration. "My ex is still around."

"What?" Oh, the smile had disappeared again.

"Relax, best friend. He still hangs out with my parents. I don't see him."

"Wait, wait, wait." He took a right, and looked over at her once. Twice. "Your parents still hang with your ex-boyfriend? Seriously?"

"Seriously! Isn't that wild? I didn't think that was messed up until recently."

He blinked hard and returned his attention to the road ahead of them. "How could you not see that was messed up?"

"Dance break," she said breathlessly. "Can I have this water bottle? I'm parched."

He chuckled and nodded as she pulled an unopened water bottle from the cupholder and chugged half of it. "That was a workout," she admitted.

"Yeah, you were all the way in it. Just full-tilt dance mode. The ex-boyfriend?"

"Oh. Right. Well, I think when you are in a toxic family relationship, you learn to put up with things over time. My parents had explained how heartbroken they were when we broke up, and how much they loved him, but looking back, I think they mostly loved him because he kept me in line with them. They were always this little…team." She scrunched up her face. "I should know better. I'm educated in the mind, you know? I'm a therapist. I should've seen what was happening to me every time I advised a client to cut contact with relationships that were doing the same things to them. But with my family stuff, I was a little blinded. Or numb, maybe? Just used to it."

He turned down the volume, and she noticed he leaned a little more toward her, like he was intently listening. With a shrug, she admitted, "I had grown up wanting a family like the ones on TV. The relationship was so choppy, and I was always the problem. As hard as I tried to be their version of perfect, they were always looking for things I did wrong. But, looking back, the things they thought were wrong were just parts of me, and not wrong to me."

"Was it hard to cut them off?" he asked quietly.

She thought about it before she answered. "Not as hard as I always thought it would be. I had tried so hard for so many years to get them to love me in a way that was healthy, and to be supportive. I was exhausted when I finally hit that last straw, you know? I think when I cut them off, I was hurt, and crying pretty often, and questioning myself for the first few months, but then I felt something change. I felt relief. No one was dragging me down anymore, and I was figuring out who I was without someone telling me who I should be. Between my parents and my ex, they had this checklist of who they wanted me to be. When I strayed from that, they would get together, talk shit, and have family meetings telling me everything I was doing wrong that was unacceptable. After the cut-off, I didn't have to sit in family meetings where the people who were supposed to protect me preached about what an abomination of a woman I was being. The only negative person I had talking in my ear was me."

"What do you mean? Why would you be negative?"

"Because that's how chronic emotional turmoil works. You don't just snap back to the person you were supposed to be after you cut ties to toxic people. That part of my healing process surprised me. It was a long time of my mother's voice being the biggest voice in my head, putting me down, putting me down, putting me down. And then when her voice faded, in a way, I stepped up and replaced her negative voice with my own, because I didn't know how to exist without that hater in my head."

Wreck made a soft grunting sound, like he understood, or like she'd said something profound.

"I'm probably boring you—"

"Not at all. The things you say make sense. You're really good at saying your feelings out loud. It's a rare thing. You seem to really know yourself."

"You have to get to know yourself when you sit alone with yourself for that long," she said softly.

"What was the last straw?" he asked.

"We don't have to talk about this boring stuff, you know. We can go back to me teaching you some of my groovy dance moves."

"I like your dance moves. I like when you talk like this just as much. I've been thinking about the things you said about your family."

She didn't understand the interest. There were lots of families that were destructive. She wasn't special.

"What was the last straw?" he asked again.

These memories weren't her favorite, and honestly she tried not to think on them too much. "Ummm, a couple years ago, they invited the woman they had tried to adopt, and my ex, to their family Christmas celebration." She pursed her lips. "I wasn't invited."

"Whaaat the hell," he ground out, and now the cab of his truck heated to an uncomfortable temperature. She rolled down the window to let some fresh air in, and he muttered, "Sorry. Give me a minute."

He was quiet for a few minutes though, and the temperature was slow to come down.

"Everything is okay," she said, trying to help. She slipped her hand across the console and rested it on his forearm without thinking. His skin was hot, but not like before. Still, she flinched back as she remembered the burn on her arm. Once she realized he wasn't burning her, she slid her hand to the inside of his elbow and massaged little circles. "I'm happier now."

"I can hear the truth in your voice at that admission," he said in a gravelly voice.

"See? Everything happens for a reason. The communication died off after that, and they seemed happier, too. They don't reach out either. We all just kind of distanced, and they kept the family they wanted intact. They have my sister, Sasha, who is good at being understanding with both sides, and my ex, and the adoptive daughter they'd always wanted. Me leaving the family made sense for everyone."

"I haven't seen my mom in years," he said suddenly.

Her eyes went wide and she swallowed hard, stalling before she responded. "I thought you said you were close with your mom."

"Something bad happened when I was sixteen. Something really bad. I talk to her almost every day, but she's safer if I don't see her."

"Did you…did you hurt her?" she whispered.

"No. No. But I could. She saw me at my worst, and I just want to keep her, you know?"

"Whatever happened…did she forgive you?"

"I don't know. I never asked for it. I don't forgive me, so I don't deserve for her to say those words. We don't talk about it. That's the unspoken rule."

"What happened?"

He huffed a dark laugh and shook his head. "That conversation will never happen. Please don't ask me for it."

She studied his profile—the rigid set to his masculine lips, the chiseled features that looked drawn just with him talking about whatever memory was flashing across the back of his mind right now.

She'd seen some pretty awful human experiences through her clients' eyes in her years as a therapist, and had good instincts on this stuff. Whatever had happened, he was right. It was bad.

His skin was growing too hot to touch, so she pulled her hand away.

"Just so you know, if you weren't the temperature of the sun right now, I wouldn't be moving away from you," she assured him. "I didn't want you questioning why I'm moving away."

He tossed her a quick glance, and then looked back to the turn he was making into the junkyard. "I can't tell if you're psychic, or just really good at reading people."

"Maybe I'm a magical creature too!" she joked.

"Fuck, if I could give away my magical-ness, I would."

"I'll be using that in my everyday vocabulary now, just so you know. Magical-ness."

He smiled. "You can touch me again now. I'm good." He cleared his throat and muttered, "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to."

The invitation touched her deeply. Slowly, she moved her fingertips to his inner elbow again, testing his skin. He was hot, but not untouchable anymore. She settled back into squeezing his inner arm gently. "Are you a bonfire shifter or something?"

His chuckle filled the cab of his truck. "Sure."

"I love bonfires. Especially in the fall, and when s'mores are involved. I also like pumpkin-flavored everything at coffee shops, and big chunky sweaters over cozy leggings, and also, Hallie sounded nice when I talked to her the other day."

He took a couple moments to respond, but that was probably due to her shifting trajectory of conversation. "She's all right," he murmured as he parked the truck in front of an office building.

"You don't like Hallie?"

"The Fastlanders are all on my nerves this week."

"Why?"

He turned off the truck and got out, leaving her question unanswered and hanging heavily in the air.

"Oookaaay," she said under her breath, and got out too.

"They get on my nerves every week," he said from where he was holding the door open for her. "It's a story for another time. If you met them, you would understand."

And suddenly, Timber really, really wanted to meet the Fastlanders.

Perhaps they would fill in some of the holes Wreck was leaving in their conversations.