Page 19 of Welded Defender
“Told you.” I lean back, trying not to watch her too closely. Trying not to think about how natural it feels sitting across from her like this.
The bell above the café door jingles again, and a local, Evan, strolls in, dusting snow off his plaid jacket . He greets the barista by name, nods at a couple of folks by the counter, then spots us by the window. His grin widens with the kind of easy confidence that comes from knowing everybody in town.
“Well, now, don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he says, wandering over with his coffee cup in hand. He tips his chin at Marcy, smile warm enough to seem harmless. “You new in town?”
Marcy straightens, her fingers tightening on her cup. “Just passing through, actually,” she says politely, keeping her tone light.
“Passing through, huh? Shame. Pretty face like yours—” he pauses for effect, then flashes another grin—”Black Pines could use a little more sunshine.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and she lets out a small, awkward laugh. “That’s… nice of you to say.”
“You planning to stay long?” he asks, leaning just a fraction closer, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I could show you the best spots around—there’s a hiking trail out past the lake, and I make a mean barbecue if you ever get tired of diner food.”
Marcy’s smile is polite, her “That sounds nice” automatic. I catch the discomfort in how she glances down, clearly notwanting to be rude but equally unwilling to continue this conversation.
That’s all I need to see.
“Appreciate the offer,” I say, cutting in before he can push further and Evan glances at me like he's just noticed me sitting here. “But we’ve got to get back to work.” My tone stays easy—casual enough that it doesn’t sound like I’m picking a fight, but final enough to end this.
Evan huffs a chuckle and lifts his cup in a salute. “Fair enough. Don’t work her too hard, Landon.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply.
He drifts back toward the counter, still radiating that small-town charm that works on tourists.
Marcy exhales, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was just being friendly,” she murmurs, like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“Maybe,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “but you don’t owe anyone your time just because they ask for it.”
Her lips press together at that. She gives a quiet nod before looking down at her cup again.
I take a sip of my own coffee, pretending to focus on the chatter around us. Inside, though, I’m still running hot—protective, keyed up, and trying like hell not to show just how much I enjoy stepping between her and the world.
Wes’s indie rock music pumps through the speakers when we get back to the shop. He grins the moment he spots the paper tray of coffees in my hands.
“Yes! You’re a lifesaver,” he says, rushing over to snatch one from the tray. He takes a long swig and groans like he’s already worked a double shift instead of clocking in just an hour ago.
Marcy smiles at his theatrics and heads to the desk, settling behind the computer. Once she’s back to work, I do the same.
It’s nearing the end of the day when Joon calls out. I’m halfway through rotating the tires on an F-150 when his voice cuts through the shop noise: “Landon, you gotta come take a look at this.”
Something in his voice makes me straighten immediately. He’s not the type to sound rattled. I wipe my hands on a rag and head over to where Marcy’s car is still up on the lift. Joon’s standing beneath it, brow furrowed, flashlight pointed at something in the undercarriage.
“What’s up?” I ask, my boots echoing on the concrete.
He motions me under. “Check this out. The fuel line’s been tampered with. At first, I thought maybe it was corrosion or a crack from wear and tear, but this?” He runs his finger along a sharp, clean cut. “That’s deliberate.”
My jaw tightens. I squat down to get a better look, heart thudding harder the longer I stare. “This wasn’t an accident.”
“Nope,” Joon says. “Someone wanted her car to fail. Probably on a back road somewhere. Snowy night like that? Could’ve gone a hell of a lot worse.”
A sharp chill runs through me. I brace one hand against the car frame as my mind reels. Marcy told me she filled the tank. Told me it didn’t make sense how fast it emptied. Now I know why.
“Someone cut the line and let it leak out slow. Smart. She wouldn’t have noticed until she was stranded.” I run a hand down my face. “Goddamn it.”
Joon glances over, brow raised. “You think it was the ex?”
“Who else would it be?”
