He’d probably say something like, “You remember that night in the rain, Raf? I still dream about it.”
Or worse, he’d bring up my mom. The vicious fights Beau and I got into and him waiting to patch us both up. He knew where the bruises were.
I clenched the steering wheel so hard my knuckles cracked. I didn’t need this. Not today.
* * *
My luck ran out somewhere between Maple Street and hell.
The delivery van rattled once, coughed, then gave one last mechanical wheeze before the engine cut out entirely.
I swore under my breath and slammed my palm against the wheel.
“Of course,” I muttered. “Of course you’d die here, you piece of crap.”
I shoved the door open and stepped out, the early afternoon sun already too damn bright.
My boots hit the pavement with a thud as I rounded the front of the van, lifting the hood more out of spite than actual hope.
A curl of steam hissed out like the van itself was laughing at me. Something smelled burnt. Maybe coolant, maybe my patience.
I glared at the engine, arms crossed, jaw tight. I wasn’t a mechanic. I baked things.
Occasionally I carried things. I was not qualified for mid-day engine CPR on a street that just so happened to be?—
I froze. No. No, no, no. I looked up slowly, dread sinking into my stomach like a stone in syrup.
There it was. Wolf and Whisk. Not twenty feet away. And standing just outside, wearing a flour-dusted apron and a stupidly smug smile?
James. Great. The universe clearly had it out for me today.
The irritating wolf spotted me instantly. His eyes lit up with way too much enthusiasm, like this was the highlight of his week.
I straightened, wiped my hands on my jeans, and tried to pretend I didn’t notice him. Tried being the key word.
“Trouble in paradise?” came that annoyingly smooth voice.
I closed the hood with a slam and sighed. “Don’t you have muffins to burn or something?”
He laughed. “We only burn them on special occasions.”
I turned to face him. James leaned casually against the doorframe.
His arms were crossed, his tawny brown hair tied back in a messy little knot that shouldn’t have looked good on anyone.
He had that whole infuriatingly effortless charm going on, like he just rolled out of bed looking like a magazine cover and decided to annoy me on purpose.
Unfortunately, my bear had a type. Tall, flirty, dangerously pretty wolves with fast smiles and too much confidence.
James reminded me of Kellan. Not in looks. Kellan had been slick, polished, always with a mirror nearby.
But there was something in James’s easy charm. The way he used humor to poke and prod, that sent a warning signal straight through me.
My bear didn’t care. It leaned forward like an idiot, ears perked.
“Engine trouble?” he asked, stepping down the front stoop.
“Just needed to cool off,” I said. “It’s like me. Hates being looked at.”
