“I’m sorry, sir.” Zoey steps around the front end of the car, coming into Harvey’s view. “That’s my fault. I think I surprised him.”

With a customer in the mix, the mechanic changes his scowl to a smile real fast.

“Well, hello there. I didn’t hear you come in. How can I help you?” Harvey stands up, all six foot three of him. He’s an intimidating figure, still sporting a good amount of muscle, even in his early sixties.

But Zoey doesn’t step back. She just tilts her head and smiles up at him.

The sight reminds me of that first night, her sitting in The Rabbit Hole, surrounded by bikers, but not showing even the inclination toward fear. I’m just as fascinated with her now as I was then. If she came here to tell me to leave her alone, she’s making the experience good and torturous.

Does she know I’ve been running the perimeter of her property each night?

I needed to know she was safe. And that she hadn’t packed up to leave.

“The fuel gauge in my truck is broken. Would you mind taking a look?”

Of course. She’s not here for me. Zoey was probably just as shocked to find me in this shop as I was to see her walk into it.

“Sure, ma’am. You parked out front?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I expect her to lead him toward the door. Instead, she steps farther into the shop. Closer to me. “But the main reason I came to your garage was to talk to Warner. Would you mind if I took a moment to do so?”

Harvey’s eyes go wide as he glances between the two of us. Luckily, he’s not one to pry. “Sure. Give me your keys, and I’ll see what I can find while you two … talk.”

“That would be perfect.” Zoey rummages in the bag hanging on her shoulder until a clinking of metal sounds out. She hands the keys over, then strolls across the shop toward me.

Harvey gives me a final incredulous stare before heading outside.

Then, we’re alone. And I experience one of the rare moments in my life where words don’t come easy.

I should apologize.

But before I can figure out what words to say, Zoey takes over.

“How are the cuts?” Zoey waves her hand toward my chest.

Because I’m still reeling, my brain decides the best way to answer is to pull up my shirt to show the already completely healed gouges. Zoey leans in close, her eyes tracing over the pink scar tissue, where the mountain lion got in a few good hits.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs.