Page 54 of Desert Rain
Evie looked over her shoulder. “The eggs?”
“How good they are. I resent it.”
“Regan’s chickens,” Skye said, tying off the end of her braid. “They live better than most people.”
Regan pointed her mug at Skye. “As they should.”
Mason made another low sound from the back door. I glanced at him without meaning to. He was watching me over the rim of his coffee, expression unreadable, the morning light turning his eyes darker. Something in my chest tightened—not soft, not sweet, not anything I had room for. More like awareness sharpening itself against my ribs.
I looked back at my plate.
Bad idea.
Attraction, in my experience, was mostly poor pattern recognition dressed up as destiny. A nervous system misfiring in the presence of cheekbones, competence, and unresolved childhood material. I was too tired, underfed, financially unstable, and recently humiliated by an emotionally fraudulent professor to be trusted with biological impulses.
Especially ones wearing tattoos and making accurate comments about my coolant leak.
Regan slid onto the stool beside me. “So. Here’s what’s going to happen.”
I froze with toast halfway to my mouth. “That sentence never leads anywhere good.”
“You’re going to eat. Then Mason is going to look at your truck properly.”
Mason’s eyes cut to her. “Am I?”
Regan didn’t turn around. “Yes.”
I pointed my toast at Mason. “He doesn’t have to.”
“He does,” Regan said.
“I don’t want to owe him.”
Mason set his mug down. “You don’t.”
“I absolutely would.”
“You owe Regan. I’m just labor.”
Regan smiled. “See? Everybody wins.”
“That is not how debts work,” I said. “I understand accounting poorly, but emotionally, I’m fluent.”
Amber laughed.
Mason pushed off the counter and walked toward the island, slow and unhurried, like he knew exactly how much space his body took up and had no intention of apologizing for it. Hestopped across from me, bracing one hand on the counter. His knuckles were still smeared with grease from my engine. The scratches from Bandit stood red across his skin.
I stared at them longer than I should have.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“Cat’s got a temper,” he said.
“He’s misunderstood.”
“He tried to murder me.”
