The tow truck smelled like rain, rust, and a hint of danger. The kind of scent that makes you question all your life choices and also maybe lean a little closer.
Callum adjusted his mirror, the faint glow of passing streetlights cutting across his jaw. "So, Tierney," he said, voice a low hum over the rattle of the engine. "Witch or waitress?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He grinned. "You've got that look. Like you've seen things normal people don't. And you also look like someone who makes a mean whiskey sour."
I laughed despite myself. "Wow. Ten points for accuracy. I'm both. Depends who's asking and what they're tipping."
His laugh filled the cab, warm and easy, wrapping around me like a song I didn't know I missed. I hated that it made my heart do a stupid little flutter.
Rain beat against the windshield as lightning danced far in the distance. Every flicker made the magic under my skin stir restless, curious. It had been quiet for years, and now it pulsed like it knew something I didn't.
Callum glanced sideways, his eyes soft but too sharp for comfort. "You always twitch when it storms?"
"Only when I'm trapped in a truck with a stranger who might be psychic."
He smirked. "Not psychic. Just observant."
We drove in silence for a few miles, the road a slick ribbon under the rain. I tried to focus on the wipers' rhythm, on the hum of the heater, on anything except how aware I was of him sitting right there.
Then he reached for the radio, and his hand brushed mine.
It wasn't much just skin against skin but the air cracked like lightning. My breath caught. The warmth that surged through my veins wasn't just attraction. It was ancient. Wild. Recognizable.
Magic.
He froze, eyes locking with mine. "You felt that too, didn't you?"
I forced a laugh. "Static. Happens when mortals forget fabric softener."
His brow quirked. "Sure. Static."
We didn't speak the rest of the drive.
When he dropped me off at my apartment, the storm had quieted, but the tension hadn't.
He leaned against the doorframe, that same crooked grin playing at his lips. "Truck's toast, but I can take a look tomorrow. Free of charge."
"Generous," I said, crossing my arms. "But I don't accept charity from mysterious tow guys with storm energy."
"Then consider it curiosity," he said. "You're not exactly ordinary yourself, Tierney."
Before I could respond, he turned and walked away his silhouette fading into the soft glow of the streetlights.
And that's when I realized something terrifying.
The spark between us wasn't random.
It was recognition.