Page 45 of Dirty Mechanic

“Can’t blame a guy for wanting to keep you close.”

She stands without answering. “Can I see them?”

She’s halfway to the RV before I nod, her braid swinging behind her like punctuation.

Dammit.

She belongs here.

Not in fear. Not in hiding. Not walking around like someone’s waiting to drag her away again.

I head inside and grab the emergency bottle of whiskey, because if this doesn’t qualify, I don’t know what does. The first sip burns like punishment. The second, like surrender.

By the time I join her in the RV, she’s kneeling beside the crate, tucking the blanket tighter around the puppies. The mother dog rests her chin on Annabelle’s thigh like she knows she’s safe now.

The sight of her here, in this space, with me, touching something so helpless, stabs deep. Primal. Raw.

A high-pitched yelp cuts through the air, followed by a puddle on the RV step.

Annabelle scrambles with a laugh, reaching to catch the tiny offender. “Oh my god, this one has zero bladder control.”

“Fits right in.” I lean against the doorframe. “Kara peed on my pillow last week. Pack initiation. Don’t worry. The pillow’s in a landfill now.”

She looks up.

“I called some of the neighbors. Found homes for three already. Mrs. Henderson wants two.”

A grin tugs at my mouth as the pup lets out a tiny sigh and burrows deeper into her dress. “Guess that means you’ll have to stick around longer than May Day. Help them adjust to their new kingdom.”

Her eyes meet mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll stick around a while longer.”

Forever, I want to say.

“RV’s clean,” I add, casually. “Sheets, too. Figured it deserved a fresh start like the rest of us. But if you’re feeling nostalgic…” I let the pause hang, let the grin finish what I don’t say, “...we could always make some old memories new again.”

A flush spreads across her cheeks, deep and honest pink.

“I like the RV,” she murmurs, half defiant, half shy. “Always liked it. You damn well know how special this place is.”

I chuckle and push off the doorframe, holding out my hand. “Come on. It’s late, and you need to eat.”

She hesitates, then threads her fingers through mine, and follows me inside the house. I throw together a quick grilled cheese and leftover tomato soup from the fridge, nothing fancy, but warm and filling. She eats in silence, the kind that feels more like recovery than retreat. And when I ask if she wants to take the last of the whiskey out back, she simply nods.

We end up in the hammock out back, tucked beneath two apple trees under a starlit sky. Bear snores softly underneath us. Kara’s busy digging another crater by the oak like she’s got a vendetta against landscaping. Annabelle’s in my arms, her head resting against my chest— right where it was always meant to be.

The world goes quiet here. All the noise in my head, the sharp edges of memory and fear, are gone.

She exhales, slow and warm against my shirt. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For not pushing… About everything.”

“You mean about our marriage?” I ask lightly. “I mean, it is our year.”

She chuckles. Low. Close. “That too.”

Her palm settles over my chest, where my heart beats hardest. She doesn’t move it. I don’t breathe. Not even when she shifts slightly, and her thigh brushes mine. Not until the space between us shrinks to almost nothing and her breath grazes my neck.

One more inch and we’ll be across a line we can’t uncross.

But she doesn’t move.