“Hilarious, Corabelle,” he grumbles. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I guess it’s your lucky day, then.”

“Will you stop?”

We both look at the dog, who is now trying to stand and escape, likely terrified of Dean and his brutish demeanor. “You’re going to scare her away,” I scold him. “I’m handling this.”

Dean huffs under his breath, and it looks like a plume of smoke as it hits the chilly Midwest air. “How were you planning on getting her back to the car? You barely made it over here without becoming roadkill. And the animal is at least fifty pounds.”

Well.

I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

“Just leave me alone. I’ll figure it out.” I glance across the two-lane street to see Mandy watching us from the car with wide eyes. “I’m sure my sister is losing her shit without you being within arm’s reach.”

“She’ll survive. But you’re questionable,” Dean replies, his voice growing louder over the howling wind and passing engines.

“You’re questionable,” I shoot back, and it might just be my lamest comeback yet. I blame the cold. I inch my way closer to the canine, which looks to be some kind of Golden Retriever mix, and coo out more sweet nothings to try and earn this dog’s trust in the middle of a blizzard during Monday morning rush hour.

“I’ll get her,” Dean intercedes, pushing past me and barreling towards the frightened animal with zero grace and finesse.

“Dean!”

“Come here, buddy!”

He advances on the dog and she bolts.

She straight-up books it across the opposite two lanes and almost causes a four car pile-up.

Panic and anger flare as I stare at Dean, slack-jawed. “Look what you just did! I said I would handle it!”

“Ah, hell,” he mutters under his breath. Before I can curse him out further, Dean flees across the highway when there’s a small break in traffic, chasing the dog down a snowy ravine. I stand there on the median strip with nerves bubbling in my gut, unable to see Dean or the dog. Cars are slowing down to gawk at me—the shivering teenager standing in the middle of an intersection covered in snow. I tap my foot against the slushy cement, slipping my mittens back on to warm my frozen fingers. I watch and wait, anxiety swelling, my chest tightening.

And then I see them. Dean is trudging up the steep ravine, carrying the fifty-pound animal in his arms. My sigh of relief hits the air and my body relaxes—that is, until Dean makes a daring sprint across the highway, not noticing a car speeding right at him with its lights off.

“Dean!” I scream, catching his attention just in time, as the car nearly clips him.

I watch him close his eyes and breathe in deep, likely taking a moment to process his near-death experience. Then he finishes the trek across the road without injury, pausing on the median to shoot me his trademark scowl.