“Sawyer, no!”
But it’s too late. His hand is grabbing the handle, and if heyanks that open through brute force, I’ll never be able to afford to get it fixed.
And…I cover my eyes when he pulls open the door. “Why? Why did you do that? I’ll never?—”
But I stop since I’m peeking through my fingers and he’s…smiling. “Looks like it opens now?”
My stomach craters. I see dollar signs from the body shop. “What did you do? And why did you do it now?”
His smile never falters. “It’s fixed, Chloe.”
“What do you think, you’re magic? You touch it and it’s fixed? It might fall off.”
His gaze softens even more as he closes it with athunk, making my heart slam, then opens it again. “It’s fixed. I fixed it,” he adds.
“You…fixed it?”
He nods. “Yesterday at work. When you were training the pittie.”
“H-how?”
He shrugs. “A screwdriver, a socket wrench, a couple other things. I had to remove the door panel. But it didn’t take too long.”
Is this real? I can barely move. Can hardly close the distance to him. But I manage. “How’d you…get in?”
He gives an apologetic wince. “Took your keys from your office. But I returned them right after. I was going to wait till you’d noticed it, but I figured it might take a while since you never use this door. But now, you can.”
I run my hand over the handle, then gingerly touch it, lift it, and…squeak. I squeak. I open it, I close it, I open it, I close it. “It really works,” I say softly, like if I speak any louder a spell will break.
He nods to the other side of the car. “That one was jiggly too, so I fixed it as well.”
I swivel around to stare at this handsome and handy-as-fuck man. “I thought it was smoother yesterday when I opened it, but I just thought she was having a good day.”
Sawyer’s brow furrows, but I just shake my head and throw myself at him. I wrap my arms around his strong chest. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done,” I say, emotions overwhelming me. “Thank you.”
He ropes his arms around me, and for a few seconds, I forget the world. I just relax into the warmth of his embrace and the citrus-and-cedar scent of him. It makes me feel safe. A quiet sound rumbles up his chest, then he clears his throat and breaks the embrace. “Anyway, it’s no big deal. I just figured you’ll need a working car once we get this gig. For work and all,” he says, scratching his scruff.
“Right. Of course,” I say, clearing the fog from my head.
He glances at the driver’s seat. “So, you want to drive?”
I grab my phone and check the time. “Actually, I’ve got my dog in your car, and I’m too excited now to drive. I’ll do it another time.”
We hustle over to his car, and since I’m sensing he doesn’t want me to linger on the gift he just gave me, I return to our love language—teasing.
When he starts the car, I give him a curious look. “Seriously though, do you own jeans?”
“Want to come over and find out?”
Laughing, I roll my eyes. “You’re relentless.”
But also, a zing rolls through me, and I can’t help butwonder—does he know he’s been flirting with me the last couple days? Is he doing it on purpose? Or is it that he can’t help himself?
My head feels a little fuzzy with all these questions, and that’s not a good place to live in before a meeting. I try to ground myself in the moment, and in the mission. “Roxie says thanks too,” I say, gesturing in the rearview to the orange beast slumbering in the driveway. “Roxie’s going to enjoy her nap.”
“Why’s your car named Roxie?”
“For Roxie Hart. Lead character inChicago. First show my mother took me to. Does your car have a name?”
