The storm hit like it had a personal grudge.
Rain slapped against the tow truck windows, thunder grumbling low enough to rattle my ribs. Callum flicked the wipers up a notch, eyes on the road, jaw doing that irritatingly attractive clench thing again.
"So," he said, voice casual like we weren't driving through the apocalypse, "are you planning to tell me why a bartender from Nowhereville just lit up a bar mirror like a Christmas tree?"
I shot him a side-eye. "Maybe I just have very enthusiastic cleaning habits."
He snorted. "Yeah, sure. And I'm the Tooth Fairy."
"If you were, you'd owe me about twenty bucks for the trauma of this conversation."
He grinned, and for one stupid second, the cab felt warmer. Then lightning flashed white-hot and close and the warmth turned to static. The air hummed. My fingers tingled against my thigh. Magic, restless and nosy, always picking the worst timing.
Callum noticed. Of course he did. "That's not normal," he said, eyes narrowing. "You're not normal."
"Thanks," I muttered. "Really love that for me."
He killed the engine and turned to face me. "Tilly, you almost blew the bar's circuits. You're lucky I was there before"
"Before what? Before I spontaneously combusted? You think I don't know how bad it's getting?"
The cab went silent except for the hiss of rain. For a second, neither of us looked at the other.
Then he reached out hesitant, but steady and his hand brushed mine. The spark that jumped between us wasn't metaphorical. It lit up the dark like a promise.
"Okay," he said softly. "Then let's figure it out. Together."
I should've pulled away. Should've told him he was way out of his depth.
Instead, I looked out at the storm and whispered, "You might regret saying that."
"Doubt it," he said, smiling that infuriating smile again. "I've got a thing for trouble."