Ty sat up on the mechanic’s creeper and took in the sight of Mallory standing there. She was packing a plate of cookies, which he hoped to God were for him. He assumed she’d discovered the phone fiasco by now, but other than that, he wasn’t sure what sort of mood to expect from her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been face down on his bed, boneless and sated right into a coma of bliss. He’d stroked a strand of damp hair from her face and she’d smiled in her sleep. His heart had constricted at the sight, his sole thought, oh Christ, I am in trouble. He’d been torn by the urge to tug her close, but then claustrophobia had reached up and grabbed him by the throat. Just as he’d chosen retreat, she’d awakened and gotten dressed to go. That must have been when she’d grabbed the wrong phone, although he hadn’t realized it then. He’d followed her home to make sure she got there safely, then driven back to his place and expected to crash. Instead he’d missed her.
