Torch slammed the hood shut. “That’ll hold for now. Let’s move while it’s still running.”
“How far’s your place?”
“Two miles. Mountain road.” He eyed me. “You ever drive something this size?”
“I got it here from my parents’ house in Charlotte.”
“On the highway. These mountain switchbacks and bad brakes don't mix well. Keys.”
He didn’t bark it—just said it like a man used to being obeyed. I dropped the keys into his palm. My fingers brushed his. They were warm, callused, and unfairly nice.
“Passenger seat,” he said, that half-smile returning. “Unless you feel like jogging.”
I climbed in while he adjusted the seat. The cab shrank around him.
He eased the truck back onto the road, calm and confident, while cars flowed around us. One woman even waved, like we were leading a parade.
“So,” he said as the mountain rose ahead. “Silicon Valley to Wildwood Valley. Quite a trip.”
“Just for the weekend. My parents run a cinnamon roll business. They’re double-booked right now, so they guilted me into covering.”
“Not a fan of Christmas?”
“It’s fine. I’m just…busy. Launch deadlines. Developers. Meetings. Christmas is another line on the calendar.”
He was quiet for a beat, steering through a curve like he’d been born on one.
“What about you?” I asked. “Torch isn’t exactly a birth certificate name.”
“Nickname. High school. Stuck.”
“Let me guess. You went through a pyromaniac phase?”
“Something like that.” His grin was quick. “My real name’s worse.”
“Now I have to know.”
“Not happening.”
The engine clanked in protest. Torch murmured, “Come on, baby. Just a little farther.”
“You talk to trucks?”
“They listen better than people.”
A few minutes later, the temperature gauge spiked. He pulled off at a scenic overlook and killed the engine. Silence—except Mariah.
He frowned at the stereo. “How is that still playing?”
“It’s cursed. I’ve accepted it.”
He leaned under the dash, tugged a wire—and blessed silence filled the cab. I might’ve actually sighed in relief.
"There's a secondary power wire running to the light controller," he said, sitting back. "Someone rigged it so the stereo runs off the same power system as the lights. Probably thought it was clever."
“It’s torture.”
“Agreed.” He rolled down the window, pine-scented air flooding in. “We’ll let it cool for ten minutes.”
