The pad of his thumb traces a smudge of dirt from my cheek slowly and tenderly as if he’s memorizing the texture of me.
My lips part instinctively in invitation. Surrender.
Just when Nolan’s thumb grazes my jaw, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure we’re about to rewrite my entire definition of kissing, the shop door bangs open.
A big, broad silhouette fills the entry.
Nolan sighs. “Beckett.”
“West,” a deep voice calls. “George said you had?—”
Beckett stops dead. His eyes flick from me to Nolan, to how close we’re sitting.
His eyebrows lift with slow, wicked delight.
“Hey, lovebirds,” he says, a smirk curling under his stubble, “didn’t mean to interrupt date night at the auto shop.”
My face combusts into pure lava. Nolan’s hand drops from my face like he touched a live wire.
Beckett steps fully inside, nodding politely to me. “Hey. I’m Beckett Lawson.” He taps his chest. “George’s fiancé. Said Nolan had the part she needed.”
Nolan grumbles, “It’s on the bench.”
Beckett wanders over, grabs a sealed box, and casts one last glance Nolan’s way.
“You know,” he says lightly, “there are easier ways to get a woman’s attention than staring intensely at her in a parked car.”
Nolan’s glare could dent steel. I try to melt into the seat. Failing that, I become one with the upholstery.
Beckett chuckles. “Relax, man. You’ll figure it out.” He tosses Nolan a salute. “Don’t break anything important.”
When the door swings shut behind him, silence explodes back into existence.
I straighten while my heart tries to sprint out of my chest. “That was George’s Beckett?”
Nolan exhales as if he’s been holding his breath since the door opened. “Yeah.”
“He seems… very sure of himself.”
“He is.” Nolan frowns at the closed door. “And he loves to meddle.”
I bite back a smile. “He was kind of fun.”
“Fun gets you in trouble,” Nolan mutters.
“Are you allergic to fun?” I tease.
He looks right at me. Eyes dark. Voice like smoke. “Maybe I just don’t know how to have it anymore.”
Oh.
That lands right in the center of me.
That one line holds so much grief, grit, and guardedness. I want to reach through it and trace the edges of whatever cracked him open.
But one wrong move and I’ll scare him back behind the walls he keeps fortified with silence and sarcasm.
So I soften, matching his quiet. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right co-pilot yet.”
