Trying to distract myself, I turn back to the engine. Without the light, I can’t see all the nuances, but now that I know where the problem is, I reach out to finger the loose wire.

I’m simultaneously grateful for this malfunction and annoyed. Because her truck wasn’t working, I was able to convince her to get on the back of my bike. But I don’t like the idea of her vehicle failing on her. It’s not unheard of for a battery wire to come loose, but only if whoever last worked on Zoey’s truck didn’t do their job right.

What else might they have messed up?

“This is all I’ve got. Well, as far as I know. I’m not even a quarter of the way through her stuff.” Zoey hobbles back, lugging a large metal box. She drops it next to me and holds up her light so I can see.

The tools inside are jumbled together, but I’m able to find a wrench.

“What all is in here?” Zoey crouches at my side, still holding the light, but also reaching in to sift through the tools.

“Well, that’s a hammer. And there’s a screwdriver⁠—”

“Warner,” she cuts me off, “if you try to mansplain tools to me, I’m going to convince Bruce to piss on your bike.” Zoey’s dry comment has me choking on a laugh. “I just wanted to know what Minnie had in case I need to use it.” She rifles through the items.

I stare at her, not even trying to pretend I don’t find her fascinating.

“Not much. Just the basics,” she mutters. “Is there a good hardware store in town?”

“Yeah.” The question has my pulse thrumming. I know exactly where to send her. “Sawdust and Supplies.”

I catch a curl at the edge of her mouth.

Good. She likes the name. Just a matter of time before she shows up at the place.

Assured that tonight isn’t the only night I’ll run into Zoey Gunner, I’m able to return to the task at hand with enthusiasm. It’s not long before the wire is sitting back in place.

Still, a thought has snagged in the back of my head, and I can’t shake it loose.

“Zoey?”

“Hmm?”

She’s so close that my mind gets muddled as I soak in her scent. I shake my head and breathe through my mouth. It barely helps.

Still, her answer is important.

“Do you remember the Check Engine light coming on the last time you drove the truck?”

She’s quiet for a minute, and when I glance her way, I see a thoughtful expression on her face as she chews her lip. When she releases the poor, abused lip, I want to lean in and soothe it with my tongue.

Not yet. Go slow with her.