Page 46 of Dirty Mechanic

Neither do I.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” I skim my fingers down her arm, brushing the soft skin beneath her sleeve. “By the way, Marvey said you didn’t seem too keen on the job.”

She sighs. “I don’t want to go back to nursing. I want to bake. It makes me feel…useful. Safe.”

“Then bake.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll eat anything you make. Even those fiber-packed muffins you pretend are dessert.”

That earns me a real smile. It’s small, but real.

“And I’ll marry you,” she says quietly. “As soon as I can.”

The words land like a prayer and a punch all at once. Not a kiss.

Not a wall.

And definitely a promise.

I’ve wanted this—her—for so long, it feels like a dream I’m not allowed to keep.

If she marries me, the inheritance clause kicks in. The loan disappears. The land becomes mine.

And the subpoena? Gone. Spousal privilege wraps around us like armor. They can’t force me to speak. Not about Huntz. Not about anything.

I shift beneath her and ease her upward, sliding my arm around her waist to pull her higher on the hammock so I can see her face. She rises with me, settling against my side as the hammock sways gently. A warm breeze stirs the night air, rustling the apple blossoms overhead. A few petals break loose, drifting like confetti, one catching in her hair. She doesn’t notice. She just looks at me, open and waiting.

My voice stays steady. “Because you want to?”

She nods.

“If I marry you,” she whispers, “you can’t testify. That subpoena? It dies the moment we say I do. Mike can scream into the wind, but without us… he has nothing.”

I don’t ask how Mike figured it out. I have my suspicions it was through Annabelle’s journal. What I need now is a plan. Locks to change. Cameras to install. Lawyers to call. Hell, a goddamn wall of steel if it comes to that.

And if marrying her gives her peace and protects her?

I’ll be down on one knee by sunrise.

But even as she smiles, something sharp catches behind my ribs.

This isn’t just about the land. Or the race. Or beating Mike at his own twisted game.

I want her to marry me because she wants forever.

Not because of court dates, inheritance clauses, or whispered promises made under delicious duress.

I want her beside me because it’s us.

Because she chooses me.

Her gaze holds mine, and something subtle shifts in the air between us. The fight in her softens. The fear dims. And what’s left?

Looks a whole damn lot like trust.

We lie back in the hammock again. The night wraps around us in gentle heat, warm and quiet. Somewhere in the grass, one of the dogs stirs, then settles again with a soft huff. Annabelle shifts closer, burrowing into my chest like she’s folding herself into something solid. Into me. My arm tightens instinctively around her, and for a second, the courtrooms, threats, and bruises, fade.

“You don’t have to ask if I want to marry you,” she says, voice quiet but steady. “You already know that I do. But I also don’t want you racing. And—we had a deal.” She winks, and for the first time all day, her smile reaches all the way to her eyes.

It damn near floors me.