“Plenty of time.” Rowan taps the clock on his dashboard. “Twenty-two minutes with traffic. Less if you stop deliberating and climb in.”
A bus rumbles past, belching black smoke that hangs in the air. The next one will be crowded with commuters, thick with body heat, and the press of strangers. The fare is two dollars to reach Rockhaven, which could be turned into a loaf of bread or a bag of beans.
“Last chance, precious.” Rowan pats the passenger seat. “The light’s about to change.”
My fingernails tap my thigh as I calculate. The equation is simple and the answer obvious. With how much work I missed last week, pride costs too much.
I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath my jeans. The door closes with a solid thunk, blocking out the noise of the city.
“Seatbelt,” Rowan says, pulling away from the curb before I settle all the way.
The interior carries the scent of leather and the subtle Alpha pheromones that cling to Rowan’s skin.
Heat blows around my legs, thawing the chill lodged deep during the walk.
“There’s a place on the way to Rockhaven with decent breakfast sandwiches.” He navigates traffic with easy confidence. “Unless you want something else?”
My stomach tightens at the thought of hot food. “Works for me.”
Fifteen minutes later, we pull into a drive-thru line, third car back. The menu board flickers with breakfast specials and prices high enough to turn me away if I were paying.
Rowan rolls down his window as we reach the speaker box.
“Two number threes,” he orders without asking what I want. “Extra bacon on both. Large coffee, black, and…” He turns to me. “Drink?”
“Coffee. Milk, no sugar.” The order sounds as if someone else is speaking. I never order extras. Never spend money on preferences when necessities eat up every dollar.
Rowan finishes the order and pulls forward to the window.
I stare at my tool bag between my feet, focusing on the wear pattern of the fabric rather than watching him pay. The exchange of money creates a debt, animbalance in our already complicated dynamic. But the math remains simple. Time saved, money saved, and energy preserved for the job ahead.
Steam rises from the paper bags when opened, carrying the promise of salt, grease, and protein.
Rowan passes a wrapped sandwich to me without comment, placing the drinks in the cup holders between us.
I unwrap the paper, and the first bite hits my system like a drug, my body recognizing real calories after too many days of quick, cheap meals snatched between shifts.
“Good?” Rowan asks, already halfway through his own sandwich.
I grunt, mouth too full for words. The egg is real, not the reconstituted powder most fast-food places use. The bacon crunches between my teeth, releasing salt and fat onto my tongue.
Rowan drives with one hand, navigating morning traffic while eating.
“What kind of lock work do you have today?” he asks after I finish the first half of my sandwich.
I take a sip of coffee, considering how much to share. “Replacement job. Old money house with old money problems.”
“Security upgrade?”
“No. The matriarch locked herself out too many times. They want a digital keypad installed. The one they chose has a monitoring system.” I shrug. “Not my business to ask why.”
Rowan’s lip quirks up. “I’m sure it’s all above board.”
I lick the grease from my lips. “Don’t care so long as they pay.”
“Practical,” he says. “You ever worked on a safe?”
“A few times.” I reach into the bag for the hash brown bites. “They’re fun. Takes a bit more work. Usually pays better.”
