The guy stared at Tyler, his jaw shifting, muscles clenched. Finally he grinned. “Hey, man, she’s all yours. Have fun with that tire.” He kicked the tire with the toe of his boot, then walked back to his truck. A few seconds later, all that was left was a cloud of roadside dust in the air. Ruby scampered after a bird that landed a few feet away from her.

“You okay?” Tyler called.

Maya nodded and walked to her car. “Thanks for stopping. He was . . . pushy.”

“I could tell. Why’d you get out of the car? Why didn’t you call someone?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have a phone.”

“You don’t have a cell phone?”

“I don’t usually have too many people to call.”

Tyler thought of Cassie and her ever-present iPhone with the glittery case and the constant notifications and rings. If she wasn’t talking on her phone, she was thumb-typing on it nearly all day. It was exhausting.

He didn’t want to think about Cassie when he was finally talking to the girl who’d occupied his dreams for weeks. He’d suspected it but wasn’t willing to admit it until now. This was the girl he’d been seeing in his mind’s eye at night, the cause of the strange images—of delight, of warmth, of comfort—dancing just out of his line of sight.

“I’m Tyler.” He reached out his hand and she slid hers into his. When he let go a quick moment later, he could still feel the warmth of her skin.

“I’m Maya.”

They stood there, eyes locked onto each other for an eternity, before Ruby pushed between them and lifted her eyebrows hopefully. Tyler reached down and scratched the top of her head. “Okay.” He rubbed his hands together. “Is your spare in the trunk?”

“I’m not sure. I hope so.”

“Let’s check and see.”

She opened the trunk but there was nothing. He pressed on all sides of the trunk space and pried his fingertips into every crevice, but nothing opened to reveal a tire. “No spare. But there’s a tire store up the highway a bit. I could run you up there so you can buy a new one.”

She bit her lip again. “How much are tires?”

He shrugged. “Probably around eighty dollars or so.”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead and glanced back at the car. The front bumper was barely hanging on and dents dotted the side.

“You know what? I think I may have just what you need back at the store.”

“You have a tire store?”

“No. It’s a feedstore. Holt Feed and Seed. Up on County Road 23?” She didn’t seem to recognize it. “You’re not from around here.”

“No. But why would you have a tire at a feedstore?”

He laughed. “Don’t ask. We have a little of everything.” He walked to the passenger side door and opened it. But instead of Maya climbing in, it was Ruby. The dog perched in the seat, ready for her ride. “Not this time, girl.” He patted the back of the truck, and Ruby jumped out of the cab and into the bed, front paws propped up on the side.