Page 46 of Wild Promise

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, unsure what to do with them, and kicked a toe against the concrete step.

“You here to fix…the c-car?” His words were slow and calculated, the pronunciation clearly difficult for him. He cleared his throat, his eyes falling away from mine, and he swayed slightly on his feet.

The reality of Melina’s situation crashed down on me, and I struggled to breathe under all its weight. My woman had a lot of responsibility riding on her shoulders, and it made her reliance on rules and structure so much easier to understand. It also made her drive for that promotion crystal fucking clear.

She was the breadwinner of this house. With her mother gone and her father in this condition, there was no doubt in my mind she was the one taking care of it all.

And it showed. Maybe not at first glance, but standing on this porch, it was impossible to miss. The peeling paint, the sagging porch rail, the cracked front step. All of it was proof she was holding things together on a shoestring, and somehow still coming to work every single day like everything was fine. Like none of it was breaking her.

It made me feel like an asshole for every dollar I’d ever taken for granted.

“No, sir,” I answered with a light laugh. “I’m no good with auto repair, I’m afraid. But I am going to call a friend of mine to help Melina get it fixed.”

“You are?” He looked up at me, a mix of suspicion and determination seeping into his gaze. “And…w-who are you?”

So this was where she got it from. The dogged conviction. The spitfire attitude.

Warmth spread through me, and I moved up a couple of steps, hoping to make him see I was serious. To convince him I was even a little bit worthy. “My name’s Zane, sir. I’m her boyfriend.”

The word left my mouth without thought. But the second it was out there, it didn’t feel wrong. It actually felt kind of fucking great.

His laugh was dry and labored. “Does…she…know that?” he fought to say through his amusement, bringing a smile to my lips.

“No,” I admitted, laughing along with him, my insides settling. “But she’ll figure it out soon, I think. I’m still in the process of sweeping her off her feet.”

“Good.” He turned toward the door, and for a moment I worried he might fall over, but he held fast to his cane, using it to totter along.

“Mr. Marshall?” I called, suddenly losing my nerve.

“Victor,” he said, straining over his shoulder to look at me. “You…call me Vic.”

“Okay, Vic. Can you please not tell Melina I said that?”

“Tell me you said what?” She shouldered her way out the door while simultaneously slipping on a boot.

Vic gave me a clumsy-looking wink before shuffling toward her. “Your boyfriend’s gonna get your car fixed.”

Melina’s mouth dropped open, her eyes growing huge as she looked back and forth between the two of us. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, her argument sounding shaky.

Vic laughed louder, his voice growing in strength. “Yes, Meli…he definitely is.”

She stepped to the side, allowing him to pass, then silently closed the door behind him. When she turned back to me, the look on her face was priceless. Indignant, skeptical awe. There was no other way to describe it. She might act pissed off, but the flush creeping up her neck told a different story.

Part of her liked the sound of it. Even if she didn’t trust it. Even if she didn’t fully trust me.

“Come on, firecracker.” I held out my hand to her, knowing I still had a mountain to climb before I’d convince her, and not entirely sure how to go about it. “You don’t want to be late.”

She closed her eyes on an arduous sigh and then, seeming to mentally prepare herself, opened her eyes and strode briskly forward. Her hand squeezed around mine as she descended the steps, her eyes laser-focused and her mouth a tight line.

For the first half of the drive, the healthy roll of my truck’s engine was the only sound between us. Maybe it should have felt awkward or unnerving, but just being in her presence gave me a sense of calm.

I still might not know what I was doing or where this thing between us was headed—if she even wanted it to go anywhere at all—but I was willing to persevere and find out.

“I’m nervous,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice strong and steady, and for a moment I thought she was talking about us, and that maybe she could read my goddamn mind. “I’ve got this big presentation to give for the event I’ve been planning, and after the mess of this morning, I’m afraid I’m going to botch it.”

I glanced at her, catching a worried expression on her face and noticing the way her fingers were twisting together in her lap. Reaching out, I placed a hand over both of hers, stilling her silent fussing.

“You’re not going to botch it,” I assured her. “You’ve been working like crazy on this project. There’s no one better prepared than you.”