“I think you should teach me something today.”

“Fine. After we make our morning stops, we’ll grab lunch and go to my workshop.”

“You have a workshop?”

Driving with one hand casually draped over the top of the steering wheel and his other hand holding his coffee, he smiled. “Of course. I was there until just before midnight last night working on wardrobe drawers.”

After we … did what we did, he left. And I had a breakdown on the phone with Christina. Once again, my actions showed my age. Fisher didn’t have time to call a friend and overanalyze what had happened between him and the girl from the basement (it wasn’t a glamorous label, but it wasn’t inaccurate either) because he was a real adult with a job and responsibilities. He didn’t have his virginity to babysit 24-7. Sex was—not a life-changing choice that required copious amounts of prayer, guilt, overthinking, and dramatization.

We made the morning’s stops. I followed him like a good puppy. He asked Hailey to deliver lunches so we could head to his shop after grabbing lunch for ourselves.

“Is this a joke?” I asked as he pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru.

“Lunch. Not a joke.” He rolled down his window. “Do you want the Hamburger Happy Meal or the Chicken McNuggets Happy Meal?”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I’m doing the hamburger because I’m not overly trusting of chicken nuggets.”

I didn’t trust him. So … I softly murmured, “Hamburger.”

“Drink? I’m splurging on a chocolate milk.”

“Juice,” I said in the same cautious tone.

He ordered our Happy Meals and pulled to the window.

“Use the change to pay for as many orders as you can behind me.” He handed the guy a hundred-dollar bill.

Fisher was a pay it forward (or in that case backward) kind of guy. Why? Why did he have to be so … extra?

“That’s kind of you,” the guy at the window said, handing Fisher the bags.

As we pulled onto the main road, Fisher tapped the bags. “Aren’t you going to see if the toys are something you don't have?”

I shook my head.

“Why?”

“Because it’s no longer my hobby. Rory can get them if she wants them.”

“You got all the current ones when you picked up Happy Meals for my crew, didn’t you?”

Rubbing my lips together and keeping my gaze locked on the dash, I returned a single nod.

Fisher chuckled.

Ten minutes later, we pulled into the driveway.

“I thought we were going to your shop.”

“We are.” He grabbed the bags and hopped out of the truck.

I wasted no time following him. In his garage, he grabbed the side of a gray cabinet and pulled on it.

“What the heck?”

He grinned as a light turned on to a stairway leading downstairs, below his garage.