The man’s hand drops from my wrist so fast I almost laugh. He mutters something about a misunderstanding and backs away, suddenly very interested in getting out of the garage. I barely notice him leave. My wrist hurts where his fingers were, but even that has taken second place to the man standing in front of me.
I stare at Julian.
“Your what?”
“My fiancée.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I was giving you a chance to correct yourself.”
Julian doesn’t look particularly concerned about correcting anything. He stands there like he didn’t just throw one word into the middle of my already complicated life and make it worse. Behind him, the garage slowly starts moving again. Slowly being the important part. A tool hits metal. Someone starts an engine. Deacon picks up the
