18
825 Words
For a long moment, the only sound in the garage was the faint hum of the cooling bike engines and the distant chatter of cicadas outside. Salem straightened, stretching her back with a soft groan as she set her wrench down on the workbench. A streak of grease crossed her forearm, and she absently wiped it on her tank top without realizing, leaving a faint smudge.
River and Miles stood a few feet away, neither speaking. Something unspoken hung heavy in the air—tension, quiet and charged, like static before a storm.
Salem noticed it first. Her brow furrowed slightly as she caught both of them watching her—River steady and unreadable, Miles with that half-smirk that always edged toward trouble.
“What?” she asked, tone dry but quieter than usual.
Miles was the first to move, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing,” he said, but the grin that tugged at his lips betrayed him. “Just… rare sight. You actually relaxed for once.”
Salem gave a low snort. “Relaxed? This is me trying not to commit homicide after dealing with Rhea all morning.”
River’s eyes lingered on her longer than he meant to. He took another step closer—then another. Miles mirrored him without thinking, the three of them closing the space until Salem was boxed in by heat, presence, and familiarity.
“You did good today,” River said quietly. “You always do.”
Salem scoffed, but her voice lacked bite. “You say that like it’s unusual.”
“It is,” Miles added, softer now, teasing stripped away. “You don’t usually let anyone see you when you’re not braced for impact.”
River’s gaze never left hers. “Maybe,” he said, low and steady, “you’re just finally letting someone see past the armor.”
That stopped her cold.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed—no engines, no cicadas, no lights buzzing overhead. Just the three of them. Salem stared at River, then Miles, her breath shallow as their scents hit her all at once—cedar, rain, heat, home.
Neither of them touched her. They didn’t have to.
Salem swallowed. “You two are dangerous when you get thoughtful,” she murmured.
Miles’ mouth curved, not playful this time. “You don’t run from it either.”
River lifted a hand, hesitated—then let his knuckles brush her wrist. Barely there. A question.
Salem didn’t pull away.
The moment tilted. Miles leaned in first, slow, giving her time to stop him. She didn’t. River followed a heartbeat later, their foreheads nearly touching hers, breath mingling.
And then—
Salem surged forward and kissed them.
It was brief. Soft. A spark, not a fire. Just enough to steal breath and knock sense loose.
She broke it first, stepping back like she’d touched a live wire. “Nope,” she said, breathless, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
Miles blinked. River exhaled slowly, stunned.
“We are not doing this in a garage,” Salem continued, pointing between them. “I need air. And distance. And—” she grabbed her jacket off the hook “—Rhea.”
Before either man could say a word, Salem turned and stormed into the house.
The front door slammed open.
“Rhea!”
From the couch came a startled yelp—then a thud, a muffled curse, and Beau’s guilty, “We weren’t doing anything!” that fooled exactly no one.
Salem stepped into the living room, arms crossed, grease still streaked on her forearm, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Beau and Rhea were tangled together on the couch like teenagers caught breaking curfew.
Salem blinked once. “Seriously?”
Rhea shoved Beau, face flushed. “He started it!”
Beau grinned. “You climbed into my lap.”
“Enough,” Salem snapped. “Shoes. You. Me. Outside. Now.”
Rhea sighed, standing. “I was busy.”
“Busy being a menace,” Salem shot back. “Come run with me before I explode.”
Beau smirked. “Try not to get eaten.”
Salem didn’t look at him. “If she does, it’s on you.”
The door swung open again, cool night air rushing in.
The quiet outside was a welcome relief — the hum of crickets, the faint rustle of trees, the scent of earth and pine. Rhea stretched her arms, glancing sideways. “So… you dragged me out here to run or to avoid thinking about the twins staring at you like you’re dessert?”
Salem shot her a sidelong glare. “Both.”
Rhea grinned, stretching. “Good. I needed the exercise anyway.”
Salem broke into a run, jaw tight. “Just keep up, chatterbox.”
Rhea laughed and chased after her as they disappeared into the moonlit trees—motion, breath, and distance finally giving Salem back control.
- Writer
