Page 22 of The Mechanic's Match
Behind me, he chuckles under his breath. “Stubborn as hell.”
My legs ache, and my throat is dry from calling Buttercup’s name. Just when I think I’m about to give up, Fox stops abruptly, holding out an arm to block my path.
“What now?” I snap.
He crouches, brushing some branches aside. “Blood.”
My stomach drops. “Oh no.”
“It’s mine, Princess,” he says dryly, lifting his hand to show a fresh cut on his palm. “Got it on some thorny brush.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” I grab his hand before he can protest. The cut isn’t deep, but it’s bleeding steadily.
“It’s nothing,” he grumbles, trying to pull away.
“Stop being a baby and let me see.” I dig into the pocket of his flannel for a tissue and press it to the wound, ignoring his scowl.
“You fuss over everyone like this, or just me?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, but his eyes linger on my face, studying me in a way that makes my pulse race.
“Just the people who help me chase after my runaway cat,” I shoot back, dabbing at the blood.
He chuckles, low and gravelly. “Lucky me.”
We don’t find Buttercup in the woods. By the time we trudge back to the garage, I’m exhausted, my feet aching from tromping over uneven terrain. Fox opens the door, flipping on the light, and I nearly collapse into the chair by the door.
“Go lay down,” he orders, nodding toward the loft. “I’ll grab you some water.”
“I’m fine,” I start to argue, but he silences me with a look. That damn look. The one that says he’s not in the mood for my sass, even though he secretly enjoys it.
While he disappears into the kitchen, I hear a faint noise. A soft meow.
I freeze, turning toward the source of the sound. “Buttercup?”
Fox reappears, a glass of water in hand. “What?”
“Shh!” I hiss, holding up a hand. There it is again—a tiny meow, coming from upstairs.
We both bolt for the loft. Fox beats me there, throwing open the door to his closet. Inside, nestled in a pile of old flannels and a Carhart jacket, is Buttercup, blinking up at us like she’s wondering what all the fuss is about.
“Seriously?” Fox growls, staring down at the fluffy orange culprit. “She’s been here the whole time?”
I scoop Buttercup up, hugging her to my chest. Relief floods through me, and I can’t help the tears that spring to my eyes.
“You scared me half to death,” I whisper, pressing my face into her fur.
When I look up, Fox is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t quite place. There’s something softer in his gaze, something almost…tender.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual.
“I am now,” I admit, my voice cracking slightly. His lips twitch into a small smile. “What?” I finally ask, raising an eyebrow.
He smirks. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “How you manage to make my clothes look better than I do.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat under his scrutiny. “They’re cozy, I love being wrapped in your warmth.”
