Page 19 of Torin

I glance at her. “Long story.”

“Ah.”

“Not a bad one.”

That earns me the faintest smile.

She looks back at the wreck. “What about my truck?”

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” There’s a flicker of relief in her eyes. She was hoping I’d say that. The poor girl is beyond exhausted.

She fastens her seat belt, and I pull back onto the road.

Hannah keeps the backpack on her lap, both arms wrapped around it. As we drive, I notice her checking the road against the route on her phone, watching every turn I make. I don’t blame her.

I glance at her. “Sorry I was a couple of minutes longer than I said. I’ve got a habit of being optimistic about timing. That’s what my brothers tell me anyway.”

“Not like I had anyplace else to be,” she replies.

When I meet her gaze, there’s a small smile on her lips. My heart lifts, and I smile back.

I wonder what she’s like when she isn’t scared out of her wits. What makes her laugh for real instead of giving me that little almost-smile. What pisses her off. Whether she’s always this stubborn. What she does when she has a whole day to herself, and nobody needs anything from her. What she orders at a restaurant every damn time. What song she turns up when it comes on the radio. What she secretly hates but pretends to like. What she could talk about for hours if somebody cared enough to listen.

The things everybody knows about her, and the things hardly anyone does.

All the little pieces that add up to Hannah.

Sooner than I’d like, I turn onto a narrow track.

Hannah sits straighter as a log cabin appears through the trees. She checks her phone. “This is it, right?”

“Unless you know somebody else hiding a cabin at these coordinates.”

She gives me a look.

“Yeah. This is it.”

It’s small—human-sized. One story, tucked beneath a stand of pines, with a gravel driveway and a narrow porch running along the front. The shutters are closed, with no light showing behind them.

I pull into the driveway and switch off the engine.

“Who owns it?”

“A friend,” she says hesitantly.

“Someone you trust?”

She gives me a long look. “More than anyone else in my life.”

The ache in her tone goes right through me.

Hannah picks up her backpack and climbs out. She winces when her feet hit the ground.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ve been better.”