Page 2 of Tracking Wolfe

Everything was different.

“Loose wing nut,” Trace said, squinting at the mechanism. “Derek, you got a⁠—”

“Top shelf of the pantry. Left bin,” Papa supplied. Dad saluted before walking inside.

My heart pounded, but I didn’t know why. Trace was just fixing an umbrella. Trace fixed things all the time. He’d fixed our fence last month and the gate before that and helped Dad with the truck and⁠—

He shifted his weight, and water dripped onto my knee.

I felt the cold drop like a shock.

“Got it,” Trace said when Dad handed him the wrench. He tightened the bolt with a quick twist. His forearm flexed. Water caught the light. The hair under his arm caught my eye.

I stared like I’d never seen armpit hair before. Why was it so mesmerizing? Why did I suddenly want to run my fingers through it?

He gave the wrench back to Dad, then dragged my chair deeper into the shade without asking, the same way he’d done things for me my whole life. Casual and easy. “Saved you from roasting.”

I quickly drew my knees up to my chest to keep from exposing anything embarrassing to my dad’s best friend. “Thanks?”

He leaned down. Close enough that I could see water drops caught in his eyelashes. “Reading anything good?”

My mouth was dry. “Um.” I looked at the book cover like I’d never seen it before. “It’s about… time.”

“Everything is,” Trace said. Not making fun of me or anything, just being himself. Being normal.

He touched my nose with one knuckle. “Got sunscreen on your nose,” he murmured in a soft, deep voice that rumbled into my chest. Then he mussed my hair like he’d done since I was six.

It meant you’re a good kid and I see you and we’re family.

Today, it made my whole body go hot.

Not embarrassed hot. Not sunburn hot. Something that started in my stomach and spread up my neck and made my thoughts turn to static. His hand was in my hair for maybe two seconds, and my brain just… stopped.

I flinched like something in me needed to hide. Or assess. Or protect.

Or cherish.

“I should—” I gestured vaguely at the house. “Water. I need water.”

“Hydrate.” Trace nodded easily. “Tell your dad I want the good lemonade and not the candle-tasting stuff he made last time.”

Papa made an offended sound. “Sweeten something with agave instead of cane sugar one time…”

“Run, kid. Rescue us,” Trace said, grinning at me like we shared a joke.

I stood up. My legs felt weird. I walked to the house without running because running would be obvious.

I didn’t know what would be obvious about it, but I knew I didn’t want to run like a kid.

I didn’t want Trace to think of me like a kid. Not anymore.

Inside, the air-conditioning hit me like cold water after sitting in the hot sun. I leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge.

What the hell was happening to me? Why now? Why him?

My reflection stared back at me from the microwave door. Pink face. Messy hair. I looked exactly as I had an hour ago, but I didn’t feel the same.

Trace had touched my hair, and my entire body had reacted like… like…