The kind that shows up anyway.
“Alright,” I say. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Her smile is quick, grateful. “Thank you. I’m really sorry. I didn’t?—”
“You’re not the first to think this road is friendly.” I glance at the incline ahead. “It’s not.”
She laughs like she knows she should be embarrassed but doesn’t want to give it too much power. “Yeah. I’ve gathered.”
God.
Even herlaughis cute.
I turn toward her trunk, keeping my movements brisk so I don’t linger too long staring at her mouth like an idiot. “You got chains?”
“Yes. In the trunk.”
“Ever put ’em on?”
She hesitates. “In theory.”
I glance back at her, and she lifts her chin like she’s daring me to judge her.
“I watched a YouTube video,” she adds. “It was very informative.”
My mouth twitches before I can stop it.
“In theory,” I repeat, because I’m a man and apparently repeating her words is the only way I know how to flirt without combusting.
She’s not flirting back—not really. Not consciously.
But there’s something in the way she looks at me. Like she’s relieved. Like she’s curious. Like she’s cataloguing me the way people do when they’re trying to figure out if you’re safe.
I should hate that. I should want her to look away.
Instead, my chest tightens with something I don’t have a name for anymore.
I kneel by the rear tire and start working, hands moving from muscle memory—chains, hooks, tension. The snow bites at my knuckles even through gloves. My breath fogs out in a steady stream.
Behind me, her door creaks.
“You don’t have to do all that,” she calls, voice small.
I keep my focus on the chain. “I do if I don’t want to come back for you in twenty minutes.”
She huffs. “I would not call again.”
I glance over my shoulder. “You’d rather freeze out here to prove a point?”
There’s a beat of silence, then: “Okay, maybe I would call again.”
I snort quietly. I don’t do that either. Snorting. It feels like too much personality.
But Mila brings it out of me like she’s flipping switches.
When I finish, I stand and brush snow off my knees. She’s closer now, bundled in a coat that looks like it’s trying its best. Her cheeks are pink from cold. Her eyes—big, bright, determined—track my every move.
There’s a cupcake air freshener swinging from her mirror.
