Page 39 of Marked

“All the best cars are women.”

“Of course they are.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Let me guess—you named her something pretentious like Isabella or Victoria?”

His silence was telling.

“Oh my God, you did! Which is it?”

“Sophia,” he admitted, and I burst out laughing.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.” He was right, which was the most ridiculous part of all.

Athena appeared again, this time bearing a plate ofbaklavathat gleamed with honey. “On the house,” she declared. “For bringing me such charming company.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—” I started, but she was already gone in a swish of skirts and determination.

“Best not to argue with Athena,” Caleb said, sliding the plate between us. “She always wins.”

The baklava was perfect—crisp, sweet, and rich with nuts and spices. I tried not to think about how Caleb watched each bite I took or how his hand had somehow found its way to my knee under the table, thumb tracing small circles that sent sparks up my spine.

“Here,” he said suddenly, pulling out his phone. “I should probably have your number. In case anything needs fixing at the cottage.”

“Right. The cottage.” I tried not to smile at his transparent excuse. “Because you’re the maintenance guy?”

“Among other things.” He grinned, unashamed. “Plus, it might be nice to check if you’re free before driving all the way out to kidnap you for dinner again.”

“Ah, so you admit it was kidnapping?”

“Willing kidnapping. The best kind.” He handed me his phone, his fingers brushing mine deliberately. My scar tingled at the contact. “Besides, you had fun.”

I typed in my number, trying to ignore how my hand shook slightly. “Maybe a little.”

“A little?” He took his phone back, immediately sending me a text so I’d have his number too. “I’m wounded.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. The message just saidHiwith a wolf emoji, because of course it did.

“Really?” I showed him the screen, eyebrow raised.

“What? I thought it was appropriate.” His smile turned playful. “I can be quite wolfish when I want to be.”

If he only knew how that made my scar burn.

We lingered over Greek coffee, strong and sweet, served in tiny cups that looked like they belonged in a museum. The restaurant had quieted, most of the other diners gone, leaving us in a comfortable bubble of soft lighting and gentle music. Caleb seemed in no hurry to leave, and honestly, neither was I. There was something almost magical about this moment—the way the candlelight caught his features, how his knee pressed against mine under the table, the lingering sweetness of honey and baklava on my tongue.

“Walk with me?” he asked finally, standing and offering his hand. “The town square is beautiful at night.”

I knew I should say no. Should head straight back to Cedar Grove and my cottage. Instead, I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet.

The evening air was cool and sweet as we stepped outside, strings of lights twinkling overhead like earthbound stars. Wrought-iron streetlamps cast pools of warm light on the cobblestones, and somewhere nearby, music drifted from an open window.

“It’s like something out of a movie,” I said, taking in the charming storefronts with their display windows still glowing.

“Wait until you see the fountain.” He moved his hand to the small of my back, guiding me around a corner. My scar hummed at the contact, and I didn’t want to pull away.

The square opened up before us, centered around an ornate Victorian fountain where water sparkled in the lamplight. Benches curved around it, and the trees were strung with yet more lights, creating a canopy of soft gold overhead.

“Okay,” I admitted, “this might be worth the drive.”

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