Page 107 of Dirty Mechanic

Derek turns toward him. “How do you remember that? You were eight. Annabelle and I had only just started seeing each other back then.”

I remember the time clearly—the way Blake’s eyebrows were still growing out after the accident, ten years later, when Annabelle came back for one of her rare visits. Too many memories tangled together, from Blake’s boyhood injuries to the bittersweet nights I’d spent with Annabelle, a decade of history and heartbreak woven tight.

“Oh, you don’t forget the smell of burnt hair.”

Derek lobs a crust of bread at him. “Still got the race on, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and blew our fuse box in the process,” Walter says.

“Mi casa, su casa, Dad.”

Misty grins at the exchange. “I swear, you Fields boys are the only people who turn mechanical failure into a family tradition.”

Walter lifts his glass. “Some families pass down heirlooms. We pass down cautionary tales.”

I sit back in my chair, belly full, heart fuller.

As the laughter fades and everyone digs into second helpings, Walter leans back and rubs his stomach. There’s a pause, a shared weight settling into the space between us, like we all know how rare this moment is. Then Blake raises his wine glass.

“To legal loopholes, secret land deeds, and the two crazy people who might just get it all sorted.”

“To Annabelle and Derek,” Misty echoes.

Glasses clink. I blush.

And for the first time since that courthouse in California, I let myself believe we might be more than just survivors. That maybe—just maybe—we’re actually married. Because it sure as hell feels like it.

Outside, the storm rumbles on, but here in this kitchen, it’s background noise. I’m surrounded by people who love loudly and messily. This isn’t just Derek’s family.

It’s mine now.

After dinner, the candles burn low. Lena shoos everyone to the living room with tea and leftover pie, ignoring Misty’s attempts to help clean. I step outside to join my sister on the front porch. Misty leans against the post, mug in hand, watching the fireflies thread between the trees.

“I went back,” Misty says suddenly, her voice low. “To what’s left of Huntz’s house. I don’t know why. Maybe I needed to see it ruined with my own eyes.”

I glance at her, surprised. “You went alone?”

She nods. “Didn’t stay long. But I found something—half-buried in the office, under the edge of the safe. It was scorched and muddy, but intact enough to maybe matter.”

Annabelle straightens. “What was it?”

“Ledger. Full of numbers and initials I don’t recognize. Might be nothing. But Caroline has it now.”

She shrugs, but the weight behind her eyes says otherwise. “Felt like it wasn’t meant to survive the fire.”

My jaw tightens. “Then maybe it was meant for us.”

We stand in the silence for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. Then the screen door creaks open behind us, spilling laughter into the night. We follow it in.

Derek pulls me onto his lap on the loveseat while Blake and Misty argue about a three-legged pig they once saw at a county fair and whether or not it should’ve won Best in Show.

It’s all so…normal.

And maybe that’s why the guilt creeps in.

Because this cozy living room, with its threadbare couch, framed photos, and soft hum of comfort, is a world away from the hell I crawled out of. And I know it won’t stay untouched forever.

Derek runs his hand lazily up and down my thigh beneath the blanket. His touch is comforting, casual, like we’ve done this a hundred times. But my nerves are anything but calm.