Chapter 8
Nolan
Hours pass. Work blurs into something easier than thinking. Midnight sneaks in unnoticed.
We end up sitting in the Mustang again. Not because the job requires it, but because neither of us wants to walk away.
Sally turns sideways in the seat, one knee up, her elbow propped against the backrest. “My grandpa used to say she purred when she was happy,” she says, running her hand over the cracked steering wheel. “Like she understood she was loved.”
I nod. “Cars know when you care.”
She smiles faintly, stroking the wheel as if it’s alive. “I think that’s why he loved her so much. She gave something back. Not like the rest of the world.”
Her voice is bittersweet.
“My parents died in a car accident when I was a baby,” she says quietly. “I don’t remember them. Just stories. Bits and pieces people offered over the years, like puzzle pieces from a box I never had the picture for.”
I stay still. Let her speak.
“My grandparents raised me after that. Grandpa used to joke that I came out stubborn and soft in equal measure. Said I’d be hell on wheels once I grew up.” Her laugh is sentimental. “Grandma passed when I was ten. After that, it was just Grandpa and me. We were a team.”
She pauses, blinking fast, but doesn’t try to hide the ache in her expression.
“I inherited their house. The one up on the ridge with the wraparound porch and the too-big garage.” She glances at me, shy and warm. “It’s falling apart in some places, but I’m trying. Bit by bit.”
I nod. “I know that kind of trying.”
She studies me like she wants to ask what I mean, but doesn’t push.
“When I’m not filming videos, I work remotely for a nonprofit in Bozeman,” she says.
“It’s a crisis support org. We help connect people to resources—mental health services, housing support, domestic safety networks.
I mostly handle case triage and digital outreach.
It’s heavy sometimes, but… I don’t know. I like being useful.”
Useful.
That word shouldn’t break me a little, but it does. Because I know what it is to chase usefulness and have it not be enough.
She looks down, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “Sorry. That was probably way more than you wanted to know.”
“It wasn’t.”
And I mean it.
She watches me for a minute. Her expression shifts as if she’s working up the courage to ask something.
“Do you ever feel like people only see what they expect to?” she finally asks softly. “Like they miss the parts of you that matter most?”
The question hits hard.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
Sally nods, holding my gaze. I can feel her gaze sliding over every scar, every silence I’ve turned into armor. “Because I notice you, Nolan. I see the parts that others miss.”
“This isn’t about me,” I say.
“It can be,” she whispers.
I rake a hand through my hair. “You need to be careful, Sally.”
“Why?” she asks, eyes wide and fearless.
“You don’t—” I blow out a breath. “You don’t know what you’re inviting in.”
“Maybe I do.”
Silence throbs. Heavy and wanting.
“Sally,” I murmur, and her name tastes like surrender.
She leans forward slowly. “Nolan.”
I don’t remember deciding to move. I just… do.
One hand finds the back of her neck, fingers sliding beneath her hair. Her skin is warm. Alive.
“I’ve been trying not to want this,” I confess, resting my forehead against hers.
“Me too,” she breathes.
We don’t rush. It’s a slow collision. Gravity, not impulse. Our noses brush. Her lips barely graze mine, just enough to ruin me.
I pause, giving her the chance to pull back. She doesn’t.
She whispers against my mouth, soft and daring, “Drive me, Nolan.”
Everything inside me snaps.
I kiss her. Not like a mistake or a question, but like I’ve been waiting to feel like this, and she finally showed up.
Her mouth opens on a tiny, startled sound that makes my pulse slam as I deepen the kiss, discovering and claiming. She tastes like root beer and every soft thing I thought I didn’t deserve.
Her hand fists in my shirt. Not dragging me closer, just holding on. Like I’m her steady when the world tilts.
I cup her jaw with my other hand, thumb under her chin, memorizing the shape of her lips.
She trembles. Sighs into my mouth.
That does it.
Heat surges through me. I kiss her again, slower this time, lingering at the corner of her lips, breaking, returning, as if I’m learning her language and never want to speak anything else again.
I pull back to look at her. Kiss-swollen lips. Pupils blown wide. Breathing uneven.
My chest tightens violently.
“Are you okay?” I ask, smoothing my thumb over her cheek.
She nods. “Yes. I… yes.”
“Good.” My voice scrapes low. “Because I’m close to losing every rule I’ve got.”
Her smile is small and shaky. “Maybe you just need different rules.”
I close my eyes, inhaling her like oxygen.
She makes me want things. Old things. Dangerous things.
I open my eyes again. “If I keep going, I won’t stop.”
Her breath hitches. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”
I swear under my breath. “Sally.”
She leans her forehead against mine. “Yes?”
I steal one more slow kiss—for now.
Then I pull back an inch, giving myself space to breathe. “We’re not doing this in a half-finished car surrounded by open wiring. I want… a better first time than that for you.”
Her cheeks flame. “You… know?”
I stroke her hair gently. “Yeah. I know.”
She swallows, the summons a smile, brave and bright. “Does it change anything?”
“Everything,” I say honestly. “Because now I want to go slow.”
Her lips part. “Nolan…”
“When we do it, we do it right,” I promise. “You deserve… everything.”
She melts, giving me a shy smile that wrecks me. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
I angle her head and press a soft kiss to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her jaw, each one a promise I intend to keep.
She sighs, and her eyes flutter shut.
I force myself to shift back, scraping together the last threads of control.
“We should call it a night,” I murmur. “It’s late.”
Her disappointment flashes, then softens into understanding. “Okay.”
I help her from the seat, hands lingering longer than necessary.
She gathers her camera bag and turns toward the exit.
“Sally?” I call.
She looks back, hopeful.
“You’re trouble.” I let a hint of a smile show. “But the best engines always are.”
Her laughter bubbles up, light and relieved. “Then buckle up, Garage Daddy.”
She reaches the door. Pauses. Looks at me over her shoulder like a question she already knows the answer to. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say, no hesitation. “Tomorrow.”
She leaves. The door shuts.
And I smile for the first time in a long goddamn time.
I lean against the Mustang, touching the shift knob she held like a promise.
“I’ll take care of her,” I tell the car again, knowing I’m also making that promise to her grandpa.