Page 35 of Torin

For a moment I lie there blinking at the ceiling, trying to remember when I fell asleep. Then an engine rumbles somewhere outside.

I’m on my feet before I’m fully awake.

Shit. The evidence.

It’s still spread across the dining table in plain sight.

I grab the nearest stack as tires crunch into the clearing. There’s no time to get everything back into the folder and put it away.

I hurry to the window and peer out. A truck has pulled up outside. Then the driver’s door opens and Torin climbs out.

My shoulders drop. He came back.

I stay there for a moment, watching as he reaches into the cab for something. His T-shirt is dark with sweat across the chest and shoulders, and there’s a streak of grease along one forearm. His hair has partly escaped whatever was holding it back, leaving a few strands hanging around his face.

He looks hot and tired and unfeasibly good.

And I’m ridiculously pleased to see him.

Torin glances toward the cabin.

I duck back instinctively.

Then immediately feel like an idiot. He knows I’m here.

By the time I open the door, Torin is almost at the porch.

He breaks into a smile when he sees me.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

His gaze moves over my face, taking in the bruises before coming back to my eyes.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better than this morning.”

“You look it.”

There’s something about the simple approval in his voice that makes me absurdly pleased.

I step onto the porch. “How did it go?”

“With the truck?”

“No, your afternoon at the spa.”

He grins, rubbing at his beard. “Pretty good. Facial was disappointing.”

I laugh. “Only pretty good?”

“Massage saved it.”

“And somewhere in between all that, you dealt with my truck?”

“It’s handled.”