"Nice to meet you," I say, and mean it.
The corner of his mouth does a very small, very controlled thing that might be the ghost of a smile. I'll take it.
Then I make the mistake of turning toward the far workbench.
Ronan has set the carburetor aside. He’s facing me now, leaning back against the bench, arms crossed, dark eyes steady on mine, and the full effect of him in morning light, in a space that’s entirely his, is… a lot.
His jaw is tight beneath the short beard, the scar catching the light. He looks carved from the mountain itself—immovable, exactly where he belongs.
My stomach does a thing I pretend doesn't happen.
"Harper." My name in his mouth—low, deliberate, like he's placed it carefully.
"Ronan." I keep my voice even. Professionally breezy. "Your hand okay? From the work?"
His eyes drop briefly to his own hands, then back up. "Fine."
"Good. Any joint pain from the cold? Mountain temperatures can—"
"I'm not a patient."
"I know." I smile. "Just making conversation."
He looks at me for a long moment. That measuring look he does, like he's calculating things and doesn't like where the math is landing.
Up close, I can smell engine oil and leather and a warmth underneath both of those things, something that has no business being that distracting. His shirt is just a henley. It shouldn't be doing what it's doing. His forearms are right there on the bench and I am a professional healthcare provider who is absolutely not thinking about what those hands would feel like if they…
"You get what you needed?" he asks.
"Yes." The word comes out perfectly steady. I'm proud of it.
"Then you should probably head back." He picks up the carburetor again.
Dismissed.
I say goodbye to Blaze, who salutes me like I'm leaving for war. I nod at Stone, who nods back with the solemnity of a man signing a treaty. I give Gear one more look that meansThursday, no excuses.
Then I walk out into the cool mountain morning, and I keep my pace even until I'm half a block away.
And then I breathe.
Chapter 6 – Ronan
She's wearing a green sweater that's going to be a problem.
I clock it the second she walks in with Rosa, hours after I dismissed her from the garage like an asshole—fitted, soft, following the lines of her body without apology. She laughs at something before the door even closes, and the sound hits me square in the chest before I can brace for it.
I turn back to my drink.
"She cleans up nice," Blaze says from the stool beside me.
"Shut up, Blaze."
"I'm just—"
"I said shut up."
He grins and shuts up.
