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“So, something I’ve been procrastinating on for weeks, you just fixed in ten minutes.” It was too early to go all warm and gooey over a fucking door hinge.

“Yeah, I’ll send you a bill.” He flipped the screwdriver in his hand. Ozzie was raised to be a protector and provider. When we were together, he always attempted to make sure my needs were met. After the breakup, that never really stopped. If I needed something, he’d handle it, no questions asked. My flaw was being too stubborn to ask. He’d check up on me through my brothers or Reese, who swore she never told him anything about me, but I thought she’d made a few exceptions. Reese was Team Ozzie and Dial, even if she wasn’t willing to admit it out loud. For Oz, my being taken care of meant our daughter was also cared for, and that was important to him.

I had to admit, it was nice to have someone fix a problem. I was so used to trying to do it all that I’d stopped asking for help. Mostly because when you ask for help, people tend to pry. Are you okay? Is everything all right? How are you feeling? The intentions were good, but those were the three questions I hated the most. And if you didn’t answer correctly, there were telephone interventions and group chats with inspirational quotes.

“Thanks… thank you for fixing that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ozzie leaned past me to place the screwdriver on the entry table.

Unfortunately, before I processed what he was doing, I stumbled backward, tripping over my feet, thinking he might kiss me.

Reaching for my arm, he steadied me. “You good?”

“Yep, all good. Just getting out of your way.”

“You’re never in my way.”

I couldn’t help but stare up at him. He had perfect mahogany skin. For a man who was often outside in the hot sun all day, he made sure to slather his face, neck, and ears in sunscreen. On the ranch he rarely wore jewelry, but after hours he’d rock chains and rings so big you’d think he’d won the Super Bowl. The interaction was brief, but I was still able to get a whiff of him, ginger and a woodsy bourbon vanilla.

“You look nice.” His eyes slowly slid down my frame.

“What?” I wasn’t expecting compliments. I appreciated them, hoped for them, but never expected them from him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know you look good.”

“No, I know I look good. I just didn’t think you’d notice.”

“I notice everything about you, Dial.”

Maybe it was a mistake being this close to Oz for multiple hours unattended. Just his intoxicating cologne, me, and the open road. “Yeah, well, we might see my parents, so I can’t go there looking like a hobo.” I stepped back because we were still too close and the scent of him was making me lightheaded and horny.

This was a business trip, but I knew Ozzie well enough, and if there was an opportunity for a side quest, he was always down. He was the guy who opened every chest and smashed every crate when we played video games. I was more focused on finishing the story, and he’d remind me that the journey was what made the ending worth it.

He reached for my overnight bag.

“I spoke with Mom, and she can’t wait to see us,” I said.

“Does she know I’m going to be with you?”

“Yes. I think she might be more excited to see you than me.”

My parents were fond of Ozzie. I didn’t know if it was because they’d watched him grow up, or the fact that he was Maple’s dad. But when Ozzie and I split up, my parents were very vocal about second chances and stressed how young we were when we first got together, and enough time had passed to start over. I never remembered them granting me that much grace when I fucked up.

I headed to the back door to confirm it was locked. “Maple will be okay, right?”

“She’s with Edison and Fancy, and we’ll be back before she has a chance to miss us.”

In the truck I was greeted by hot coffee and breakfast burritos. “What’s all this?”

“Breakfast is an essential meal—not the most important, because we know that’s lunch, but if you’re going to be my road trip buddy, I need you at your best, with a full tummy and focused mind.” He removed his cowboy hat before climbing into the cab of the truck.

I was known for being late and would often rush out the door clutching a granola bar between my teeth. “You went all the way to Sunny Side Kitchen to pick this up?”

“Yeah, I was up anyway, tending to the horses. I just chose not to dawdle this morning while completing my chores. Which gave me plenty of time to shower and make an early-morning breakfast run. I got you a large half-sweet, nonfat caramel macchiato.” He pointed at my drink.

How he still remembered my coffee order after all this time was beyond me. Sure, I knew how he liked his by heart—medium flat white—but his order was simple in comparison. “Thank you.” I pressed the cup against my mouth, appreciating the warmth. It was spring, but earlier mornings still brought a chill.

“Sure thing.”