My skin grows warm under her close gaze. Her scent seeps into my nose, so strong that I taste the sweetness on my tongue. My mind starts to drift into a dreamlike state, where I can float happily along and pretend she’ll never walk away.

When Zoey straightens, she tilts her head to the side, staring down at me. The corner of her lip twitches, and I home in on the movement, the sparkle of her piercing hypnotizing.

“You like taking your shirt off around me, don’t you?”

Is she flirting?

Hope heats my chest as I let my clothing settle back into place.

“Maybe I’m hoping you’ll do something about it one of these days,” I say.

Now, both of the corners of her mouth twitch, but she twists her lips until the movement disappears.

“Do you mind if I …” Zoey glances around the shop, her eyes resting on a stool off to the side. One that’s supporting a box of greasy, used rags. Seeing as how she’s wearing a dress the same white as the tablecloth at a five-star restaurant, I expect her to dismiss the option as a seat, but she moves toward it.

“No, wait!” I jump up from my stool, making as if to grab her and keep her away from the mess, only to realize at the last second that my hands are covered in motor oil. I hold them up, skipping backward so I don’t ruin the glorious image of Zoey in her pristine outfit. “Just … here …” Skirting around her, I reach for the box of rags myself.

But lifting it only reveals dark smears on the metal seat. That won’t work.

“What’s the matter?” Zoey’s voice next to my shoulder has me jumping away again, clutching the container of dirty rags to my chest. “Is that stuff expensive?” She moves closer, her head bent to peer into the box.

“No. This stuff is garbage.”

“Then, why are you hugging it?”

“I’m not.”

Zoey smirks.

She’s right; I am hugging them. I drop the box and kick it under a workbench.

“Can we sit now? Or do you have more garbage to embrace?” Her eyes twinkle, and one of her perfectly clean hands reaches for the stool.

“No, don’t!” Again, I lunge in between the offensive seat and the perfect woman, using my body as a shield and trying to herd her back.

Zoey stops attempting to get at the stool. Instead, she stares resolutely up at me. The glitter is gone from her eyes, leaving behind sadness.

“I thought this might be how it went. And I understand. You don’t want me here. I promise I’ll go, just after⁠—”

“Not want you here? Are you fucking with me, Zoey?”

She flinches back, and I regret how harsh my words came out. I’m flustered, my wolf is agitated, and the combination is turning me into an ass.