“We just need a ride to the trail head. His truck is parked there.”

“Get in,” Corinne insisted, waving us inside. “It’s going to rain any minute!”

Taylor followed me into the back of the van.

The moment the tires were in motion, Corinne was full of questions. “Kirby told me you had a new friend.” She looked at Taylor in the rearview mirror as if a wild animal were in her backseat. “She was kidding that he’s a hotshot, right?”

“No,” I said, clearing my throat.

The corners of Taylor’s mouth turned up, but he managed to suppress a full smile.

Corinne targeted Taylor again and then looked forward, both hands on the wheel. “Apapa, Falyn,” she scolded with a perfect Greek accent. “What would your mother say?” Her words were free of any accent at all.

“A lot probably.”

Corinne clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval. “Where is he from?”

“Illinois,” Taylor said.

Corinne was unhappy that he had addressed her, so her questions ceased. She slowed in the parking lot, and we directed her toward Taylor’s truck. She twisted around to watch us exit the van, glaring at Taylor as if she were trying to cast some sort of Greek curse on him with her eyes.

“Thanks, Corinne,” I said. “Bye, Kostas.”

“Later,” he said, still concentrating on his game.

Corinne pulled away, scowling at Taylor, until she decided it was time to watch the road.

Taylor pressed the keyless entry, and I pulled open the door and climbed in, waiting for him to slide in next to me.

“Who was she?” Taylor asked, peeling off his pullover. His T-shirt inched up as he did so, revealing two of his lower abs.

There has to be four more to go along with them and that gorgeous V leading down to his—

Stop.

“That would be Corinne,” I said, blinking, “Kirby’s mother.”

“Was she speaking English?”

“She’s Greek. Kirby’s dad was Canadian, I think. Corinne wanted to name her Circe, after a Greek witch. The dad nixed it, thankfully. Kirby was the compromise.”

“Way to stick to your guns, Canada. Where is he now?”

I shrugged. “All Kirby knows is that he was a hotshot.” I left Taylor with that thought, saying nothing else.

We rode down most of the eight thousand feet from Pikes to the Springs in silence. Taylor turned onto Tejon Street before parking his black behemoth directly in front of Bucksaw’s entrance.

He climbed out, waiting for me to do the same. Just as my feet touched the asphalt, the sky opened up, and rain began to pour. We ran inside, laughing from exhaustion, surprise, and the embarrassment that had come from Corinne.

Our chuckling died down, an awkward silence becoming the uninvited third presence in the room.

“I’m not bullshitting you,” Taylor said. “Is that what your deal is?”

“I don’t have a deal. What are you talking about?”