Page 18 of Marked

Not at all because of how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled or how the morning light caught his profile just right or—

Oh, I was in so much trouble.

I tried to focus on the car—really, I did—but watching Caleb work was like witnessing performance art. The way his lean muscles flexed under his shirt as he leaned over the engine, those capable hands moving with practiced confidence. And when he reached up to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead, leaving a smudge of grease that somehow made him look even more unfairly attractive… It wasn’t fair that someone who set off so many warning bells in my head could look this good doing it.

Don’t even get me started on what happened when he bent over to check something underneath. Those jeans should come with a warning label. And that boyish smile he’d flash my way whenever he explained something technical? Pure torture. His eyes would light up, all warm and twinkling, making me forget I was supposed to be listening to words and not just drowning in blue.

“Let’s try it now,” he said, closing the hood with a satisfied pat.

The engine turned over on the first try, purring like it had never given me a day of trouble in its life. The traitor.

“Oh my God!” I bounced on my toes, coffee forgotten. “You’re a miracle worker! A car whisperer! A mechanical messiah!”

Caleb laughed, wiping his hands on a rag. “Just needed a little TLC.”

“Seriously, how can I ever repay you?”

“How about dinner?”

My pulse raced while my brain screamed ‘trap!’ I should say no. This man and his brothers had been involved in my mother’s life—in my life—without my knowledge. Everything about this screamed ‘bad idea.’

But…

“On me,” he added quickly, those blue eyes holding mine. “Unless you have other plans tonight?”

I shook my head before my self-preservation instincts could kick in. “No—I mean, no plans.” What was wrong with me? Mom had practically fled this town, and here I was agreeing to dinner with one of the mysterious figures from our past. My pulse was racing like I’d mainlined espresso. Was this a date? I’d never really dated before—anxiety and romance weren’t exactly besties. And something about dating had always felt… off. Like I was betraying someone, which made zero sense because hello, perpetually single here.

But something about refusing felt… wrong. Like I was fighting against gravity itself.

And this? This felt… right?

How could something feel so suspicious and so natural at the same time?

“Great.” His smile could have powered the whole town. “I’ll pick you up at six?”

I opened my mouth to insist I could drive myself—my car was working now, after all, thanks to him—but he wasalready heading to his truck with that confident stride that did dangerous things to my ability to form coherent thoughts.

By the time my brain came back online, he was gone, leaving me standing there, clutching an empty coffee mug and wondering what the hell just happened.

“Right,” I muttered to myself. “No big deal. Just dinner. With a stupidly attractive man who fixes cars like some kind of mechanical god, smiles like sunshine, and oh yeah, has been secretly connected to my family for years.” I looked down at my space-themed sleepwear. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Armed with the power of processed noodles and caffeine, I ventured into town like a man on a mission. Operation: Get Out of Dodge was officially underway.

The drive should have been peaceful—all tall pines and mountain views that probably made hikers weep with joy. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every shadow between the trees seemed to move. Every rustle in the undergrowth made my hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“You’re being paranoid,” I muttered to myself, checking the rearview mirror for the tenth time. “This isn’t a horror movie. There are no wolves in these woods.” But even as I said it, something dark and massive seemed to flow between the trees, keeping pace with my car.

I’d never been so relieved to see civilization. Cedar Grove’s main street looked like something out of a vintage postcard, all quaint storefronts and excessive amounts of cedar trim.

Cedar Grove Realty’s office sat wedged between Karen’s General Store and what looked like the world’s most artisanal coffee shop. The sign was weathered but well maintained,proudly declaring itself the town’s only real estate office since 1952. Below that, someone had helpfully added, Yes, We’re Still Open in slightly desperate-looking letters.

A bell chimed as I pushed open the door, announcing my presence to a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a Small-Town Professional catalog. Blond bob, sensible blazer, smile that probably practiced in the mirror.

“Welcome to Cedar Grove Realty! I’m Linda Matthews. How can I help you today?”

“Hi, I’m Kai Chen. I have a property I’d like to list.” I tried to sound confident, like I sold houses every day and wasn’t currently living on instant ramen.

Her perfectly manicured fingers flew across her keyboard. “Of course! Which property would that be?”

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