The car was a Mercedes-Benz C300 Sedan—sleek but a little rough around the edges. The trunk was stained with a few brown spots that caught Emma’s eye. They looked suspiciously like coffee stains.

  It made sense; in just three hours at the café, she’d discovered that the county’s inhabitants practically lived on coffee. They could wake up at midnight and still demand a cup.

  “It’s my dad’s car,” Derek said, watching as his little witch’s gaze swept over the vehicle.

  He couldn’t tell if she was sizing it up or judging it, but he didn’t really care. His own car was better—at least it would be, once Anthony finished working on it.

  “Oh, okay,” Emma muttered absentmindedly, still staring.

  What is she thinking about now? Derek wondered, studying her closely. She hadn’t moved an inch since he’d pointed out the car.

  “If you don’t like it, we could—”

  “No, not at all!” she interrupted quickly, snapping her gaze up to meet his. “The car’s fine.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she walked toward the Mercedes, which was parked tightly between two Volkswagens.

  “Oh…” Derek murmured, relieved. At least he wouldn’t have to call Anthony or Shane for help—the last thing he needed was those two causing trouble.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Emma called, already standing by the passenger door.

  He quickened his pace until he reached her.

  “What about these cars?” she asked, pointing to the Volkswagens boxing his in.

  Before he could answer, two men appeared, each carrying grocery bags. Judging by their direction, they were clearly the owners. They looked to be in their mid-thirties, probably just coming from the grocery store a few feet away.

  Watching them, Emma remembered she’d been planning to get a cookbook for herself from that same store. There was foodstuff at home—but she couldn’t cook to save her life. She couldn’t keep surviving on oatmeal forever or noodles, and she refused to keep calling Clem for help.

  “Seems their owners are here,” Derek eyed the approaching men.

  “Sorry about that,” said the shorter man, fumbling for his car keys. Emma instantly pegged him as the polite, soft-spoken type—the kind who always followed rules.

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  “No problem,” Derek replied easily.

  The man gave a grateful nod before tossing his grocery bags onto the passenger seat. He waved briefly to his friend, then got into his car and drove off.

  “Get in,” Derek said through the open window after sliding into his seat and starting the engine.

  Emma nodded and climbed in. She buckled her seatbelt and pulled out her phone—not because she expected any messages, but because it gave her something to do. Anything to avoid making conversation with her ponytailed bean head.

  Ever since he’d cupped her face in his hands earlier, she’d been jittery, emotional, confused. She didn’t understand what was happening to her—what he was doing to her.

  Maybe Amelia would. She decided she’d call her sister later that night; Amelia was far more experienced in these things.

  Is this what her literature teacher meant by “love” during Romeo and Juliet lessons? she thought wryly, watching trees fly past as the car’s speed kicked in.

  “Emma.”

  Her head snapped toward him instantly. No one else could make her name sound that soft, that dangerous. It sent chills down her spine. Not even Derren—with all his muscles and achievements—had ever made her heart react like this.

  “You space out a lot,” Derek commented.

  “I’m sorry, just tired,” she said, rubbing her forehead and leaning back into the seat.

  “Oh… I thought maybe you didn’t like the car,” he said casually.

  Emma hesitated. The truth was, she hadn’t been thinking about the car at all—but about him. Still, she couldn’t exactly say that.

  “It’s okay,” she said lightly. “Just not better than Clem’s.”

  She meant it as a joke, but Derek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

  “Clem?” he asked, his tone suddenly clipped.

  “Yes,” she whispered, sensing the storm building. “He picked me up for school today.”

  That did it. Derek pulled sharply to the side of the road and parked, jaw clenched. His anger flared hot. His beta. Of course.

  He remembered Clem’s Mustang vividly—and the idea of Emma in it made his blood boil.

  “So, you liked his car then,” he muttered, his voice thick with jealousy.

  “Yes, but—” Emma began, trying to explain, though she didn’t even know why.

  “Okay. But don’t let him pick you up again,” he said firmly, turning to her.

  “But—”

  “No buts!” he snapped, then exhaled when he saw her flinch. Lowering his voice, he reached for her shoulders gently. “No buts,” he repeated softly. “I’ll pick you up from now on.”

  “Why?” she whispered, her pulse quickening again. His eyes—those impossibly deep blue eyes—were pulling her under, scattering her thoughts.

  She bit her lip unconsciously, trying to steady her breathing.

  Derek froze, his gaze dropping to her lips.

  “Because…” he started, then trailed off, still staring.

  “Beca—?” she began to repeat, but he didn’t let her finish.

  “Because I love you,” he said—and kissed her.