deepest part of the night

She could tell the whiskey was getting to her. The moment she stood up fully, she felt a wave of lightheadedness she’s never quite experienced so starkly. It made her extra mindful of the way she moved, not wanting to come off sloppy and alert Tyler of her very low alcohol tolerance. When she was a stride or so short of him again, she playfully narrowed her eyes at him before walking up to the plastic bin to see what was inside.

"I… wow.” Wow was definitely the word. She could not have guessed this is what Tyler had left behind in that derelict old barn. “I mean, I can’t say I’ve spared much thought about low level pyronetics. I mean, pyrotechnics,” she corrected herself — mentally cursing the alcohol — before pressing on, “but… I like them?” She offered. She’d only ever enjoyed fireworks during the Fourth of July display, and always at a distance. She didn’t think she’s ever been this close to an actual firework before. “You really gonna set this off?” It wasn’t even a holiday, just a random Friday night. It felt silly and dangerous and… exciting.

Taru was, at once, both an older brother and a younger one. It would’ve gone against his nature not to repeat her flub: “Well I haven’t dragged these here pyronetics over for nothing.” He grinned down at the bin, feeling a fluttery kind of excitement; the kind that started at the tips of your fingers. It wasn’t the same swooping, heart-hammering, stomach-rolling type he’d sought over and over again until his body couldn’t take it much longer, but – it was something.

His days had turned monotonous over the past couple of years. The most exciting thing he got up to was smashing glass in the woods. This was different. He dug into his jeans pocket for the familiar feel of his lighter, then pulled it out to flick it on and off a couple times – testing to see if it'd gone empty. The company was different, too. Pippa Rossi was engaged to a grade-A douchebag, but that didn’t make her any less pretty. And it didn’t hurt to have a pretty girl around. The lighter flicked on then off again. It usually didn’t hurt, anyway.

“Not too chickenshit?” he asked jokingly, then reached for one of the packaged firecrackers. Start with something standard and generally inoffensive. “These ones're as dangerous as those sparklers they handed out at the Solstice." They were the kinds they used to plant under cars parked outside Hometown Hot Dogs or Pizza Hut to scare the shit out of people. They called it chicky bombing – the origin of the name long forgotten. He handed the firecracker over to Pippa.

Pippa pulled open the passenger door and got back inside of Tyler’s car. She felt silly and exposed waiting right by it, out on the open road. She also really didn’t want to be on her feet needlessly after the day she’s had. Once the door was firmly shut with crisp whump, a sigh shot out of her. She was still recovering from that swig. The taste was gradually becoming more dull but now she just felt warm all over her chest. "Heavens…”

It was strange being in someone else’s car without them. Pippa stared at the driver’s seat for a beat, hoping Tyler would come back sooner than later, before her eyes wandered to the backseat and she jumped a little at the sight she came across. “Oh my—” She’d forgotten about Tyler’s furry friend. “Well, hey there. Sorry if I’m botherin’ you. He’ll be back soon. He’s just…” Did she want to explain what Tyler was doing? “…he’s getting something. Be back any moment now,” she assured the dog. Not that it seemed to care. Or understand. Was she really talking to a dog? The thought alone had Pippa lifting the bottle to her lips for another swig. More modest than the one before. She hated the flavor all the same. “God, Momma, if you could see me now…”

She spent the rest of her wait just sitting, staring at the road ahead with only the sound of crickets — and Tyler’s fluffy dog — to keep her company. If the thought of another drink of Jack crossed her mind, the better part of her brain decided against it. Probably a good thing too. As the minutes passed, she was sure the gulps she took were beginning to settle in her head. She was feeling quite warm as well.

Tyler’s return came with a welcome feeling of relief. “Back in one piece and tickless. Look at you.” With a rusted metal box to show for it. Pippa tilted her head as she regarded the container. She couldn’t begin to imagine what might be inside. “Better than anyone’s treated me in years.” The answer fell out of her a little too easily. Whoops. “And yes. Very warm. Maybe a little too warm actually.” It was then that she remembered she could shrug off the cardigan she was wearing and so she did. “What did you forget in the barn? Something to share with the class?” She asked once the cardigan was off and haphazardly folded on her lap.

Inside, was a small mason jar left on its side. Stuffed inside, were hand-rolled cigarettes – a few might’ve had a little weed in them, but the potency would’ve worn away by the time he reclaimed it. There were also a couple of mini bottles stolen from the Hot Stop, baseball cards, an ugly homemade beaded bracelet, a Get Well Soon card, a half-eaten pack of bubblegum, $20 in ones and fives, and… mostly junk. A lot more junk. But most of it was important to him. He snapped the lid closed again. “Don’t get any ideas now. All that right there’s for me,” he said as if any of it would be particularly tempting to her.

He extracted himself out of the window again, nodding toward the bin at his feet. “This is for you.” Taru tapped the toe of his boot against the plastic, then looked over at Pippa, sitting patient and poised and a little pink-cheeked in the passenger seat. He cleared his throat. "Are you gonna get your ass back out here and say thank you for the birthday present I've so thoughtfully provided?" Inside the dry storage bin, packed away safely, were four firecrackers, two Mad Dog fountains, and a single Roman candle. He paused a second. "I know the slashers and ticks scared you off, but where d'ya stand on low-level pyrotechnics?"

All this because Tyler wanted to retrieve something he’d left in a derelict barn? God in Heaven, she’d never understand this man. She gave a soft shake of her head before walking over, coming to a stop just short of him to take in the look on his face before she held out the pocket knife. “I’ll stick by the car,” she told him. Not because she was scared. The idea of possibly dealing with ticks just didn’t seem appealing to her.

Pippa let out a soft huff. 'Grown up.’ Maybe once upon a time, when she was eighteen and eager to be taken seriously, she would have been thrilled someone described her and Matt’s activities that way. But now? She thought Tyler might as well have called it 'boring’. At least then it’d be honest.

“He’s…” Not in my life anymore. More interested in a busty Resident than he’d ever be in me. So many real, true things she could have said. But instead, Pippa continued to stoke the fire that was her hot mess of a life and make her lies burn brighter. “…overseas. Doing a stint with Doctors Without Borders. There won’t be any grand gestures to look forward to unfortunately.” The lies settled uneasily in her stomach. She didn’t meet Tyler’s eyes when she said them, taking a beat to pretend to care about what was beneath her shoes. She hoped it passed for disappointment, over being reminded that her 'fiancé’ couldn’t make her big day.

Taru took the knife from her when she offered it back and put it in his pocket. He listened to the explanation about Sullivan’s apparent absence from tomorrow and didn’t really care, wasn’t sure why he asked, and regretted saying his name again. He remembered something that he hadn’t thought of in… Christ, it’d been years. The last night he barged his way into Pippa Rossi’s bedroom to get the blood wiped from his face. A rejected offer, a shithead’s way of dealing with it. Something-something leopards and spots. Mary, mother of God, he needed to wrap this part up.

Taru managed not to scuff his feet like a flustered, discontented six-year-old, but it was close. And then, he smiled again – joking, basically friendly – and said facetiously: "Don't tell me what to do." But then he headed off to his destination anyway. When he got inside the barn, he was pleased it looked the same. It hadn't actually been that long since he'd been there with Randy. They came by a little after his son had been born, a means to celebrate... and a way to regress for a few hours.

The hay barn was old, dirty, and filled with what two boys (and often, one girl) from the ages of 10 onward considered their treasures. They had their hideout in the woods by their houses, where they smashed shit and drank stown-away beer, but the barn was like a museum dedicated to adolescence. It was probably a good thing Rossi didn't come along, he thought, as he opened a bin tucked under fallen lumber and found a short pile of water-logged skin mags. Taru let out a low whistle, moving the glow of the flashlight around until he saw what he was looking for.

A smallish, tan-colored dry storage box, firstly, and then a rusted metal box on top of it. He crouched in front of them, and with the flashlight secured between his teeth, he took the Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. There was a lock on the metal box, for which they'd lost the key a long time ago. He opened the thinnest tool on the pocket knife and put it in the lock with the blunt side facing the tumblers. Carefully, he turned it a bit and jiggled it up and down with well-practiced ease until the padlock fell loose in his palm. He grinned boyishly to himself and lifted the lid -- "Fuck yeah." He snapped it shut again and opened the dry storage box, to double-check things were in order there too. So far, so good.

Once everything was accounted for, he got excited again. The rusty box was dropped carefully inside with the dry storage, and then he lifted the latter to bring it back to the car. Back by his old Camaro, he lowered the box with far more care and caution than he showed most things, grinning wildly around the flashlight still between his teeth. He opened the door, tossed the flashlight onto the seat, and then lifted his foot onto the top of a tire. Taru leaned over, grabbed the hem of his black jeans, and lifted it to expose his ankle for inspection. A quick, cursory look for show, interrupted by a glance sideways at Rossi, and then he dropped it.

"No ticks," he announced proudly then had both feet back on the dirt road. The door closed and he kept his hand on the car's roof as he nodded to the bottle in her hands. "So how's Jack been treating ya?" He tapped the dinged-up metal, then took a step back to re-address what he brought. "All warmed up?"

At his question, Pippa looked down to take herself in. With the exception of the bottle of whiskey and knife in her hands, she’d say she looked glaringly average, right down to her comfy work sneakers. “Cool,” she echoed his word choice, “is not the word I’d use. Perhaps deranged?” She offered lightheartedly, a pitiful chuckle falling out of her a moment after. Quite frankly, she looked like a woman who realized she was about to turn thirty and decided to end it all. Morbid but not entirely inaccurate.

Her brows set in a soft frown as she watched Tyler start toward the field. As ‘thrilling’ as a situation like this might be to some people, it was more so concerning for Pippa. She wasn’t exactly keen on following him into an open field in the dead of the night without a little more context. “Tyler, what are we doing?” She finally asked, a faint exasperation evident in her voice. “I’m not taking a step closer to that field until you tell me. I don’t know how many horror movies you’ve seen, but I’ve seen a few gruesome slashers that start just like this.” That was about as gently as she could highlight the dubious reality they found themselves in.

His question threw her off, her apprehension distracted by a prickle of annoyance at his word choice. Pathetic. It didn’t sit right with her. She was sure he didn’t mean it that way — he couldn’t have, right? — so she did her best to brush the feeling aside by indulging his curiosity. “I was working for most of it actually,” she revealed. A night shift she felt in her bones that finished on the morning of her birthday. She barely had the energy to enjoy the small cake her shift mates surprised her with.

“Then Matt and I had dinner,” she continued on, recalling the rest of the day as her eyes wandered toward the night sky. An 8:30 reservation at a restaurant 15 minutes from their apartment. It was uninspired. Filled with an awkward tension that was palpable. Looking back, she knew it then but was in denial — the two of them were teetering toward the end. “He got me a necklace. We split a dessert. It was all pretty… standard.”

Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was her frustration with the bitter memories and Tyler being tight-lipped. She was being honest to the point of carelessness. Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t the way someone should be talking about a birthday celebration with their supposed fiancé. Gosh, she wished she could just take the afternoon all those lies spilled out of her mouth back. Too late now though wasn’t it? To her dismay, Pippa made an attempt at saving her pathetic ruse. Maybe Tyler was right to associate that word with her after all. It was far more appropriate than 'cool’. “We’ve just been together for so long, you know? Plus with our line of work, it’s hard to be excited about anything other than sleep.”

But setting off dry ice bombs wasn’t the only thing they got up to. They’d play something they dubbed Fire Prevention Week – setting little fires with the sole purpose of extinguishing them, or looking for stray bullets in the woods from hunters to toss into the embers, hooting and hollering at the sound of the explosive shrapnel. There was also a creek a little behind the barn where they’d get to fishing. If anyone caught a bluegill or a perch, they’d fling it into the road and hide in the trees as they watched it wriggle and wait for a car to approach. The goal? Startle the driver and, if the fish got run over, watch it pop like a balloon. All kids were sick fucks, in their defense. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth as he thought. For all intents and purposes, to Taru, this was almost sacred ground.

"Whatever. I want to grab some shit we left in that barn," he begrudgingly explained. Her exasperation was amusing, sure, but the holdup was less than ideal. Practicing patience was something that had been on his to-do list for the better part of a decade and this part, as he imagined, was meant to be smooth sailing. Maybe he'd followed Randy into too many shitty old graveyards and wet, echoing caves without much questioning, and now expected a similar acceptance when it was his turn to lead the way. What a bunch of horseshit. "You can stick by the car if you're too scared," he offered plainly, not all too adept at comfort or looking apologetic, "but then I'm gonna need the knife back."

I was working for most of it actually. That didn't shock him – especially after he heard about her packed schedule in college. Work. Dinner. Dessert. Necklace. What did shock him was that he didn't know what to say. 'Sullivan still sounds boring as all fuck'? 'Was it actually your 79th birthday?' 'On my last birthday, I waited all day for my ex-girlfriend to call but she never did and then my dementia-addled grandpa said some crazy racist shit that had something to do with Pearl Harbor'? Taru sniffed absently and looked up toward the stars for a brief moment.

Gosh, she felt like such a mom, but the idea of Tyler still doing that to treat his injuries made her feel queasy. She wasn’t stressing about his subpar form of tending to himself for long though. Because soon he was leaning over and her train of thought drained right out of her head. He wasn’t terribly close, but it was closer enough to distract her as she watched him knock open his glove department and fish out of bag of… Was that peanut M&Ms? She let out a small sound of surprise when he dropped it on her lap unceremoniously, her grip instinctively tensing around the bottle of Jack he’d ask her to hang onto earlier.

Pippa wanted to ask what he was doing, but a question right in this moment felt like an appalling disruption to his seemingly important rummaging. Her eyes widened when he procured a pocket knife. Of course, Tyler Kobayashi would have a pocket knife in his car. Why was she surprised? Tentative, she took it from him when he asked her to, not a single query out of her mouth why he had it or needed it in the moment in the first place. It felt strange to hold in her hand, and a little dangerous. But she couldn’t deny that the unfamiliarity was came with a thrum of excitement just beneath her skin. She’d held sharp objects before – kitchen knives, scalpels – but this felt different and entirely new.

Hearing his voice, she was drawn right back into their conversation, turning her head to look at him. There was a grin sat on his mouth again. A little different than the one before. She thought right then that she quite liked when Tyler looked something other than coolly disinterested. When he took the keys out of the ignition and moved to get out of the car, Pippa found herself blinking out of whatever reverie she might have fallen in. The guilt for staring a little too long followed shortly after. She’d blame that on whatever whisky sat in her belly from The Windy Shot.

“Aren’t you the responsible one?” he asked semi-rhetorically, not doing much better in the communication department but having fun with his own deficiency – even more fun now that he knew it may be a source of some annoyance. “I’m tryin’ my hand at sensibility here,” he continued, letting his voice go low and slow as he explained. “The most responsible gets to handle the sharp objects.”

Taru looked her up and down, taking stock of Phillipa Rossi with a bottle of liquor and a pocket knife in hand and liking the look of it, then joked like he didn't mean it: “C’mon. Don’t you feel a little badass?" He scratched at his cheek as he fought to restrain an amused expression. "This has gotta be the coolest you've ever looked.” If it had been Randy in front of him it would've been least lame. He tucked his car keys into his jacket pocket, then started in the direction of the field. The flashlight didn’t feel totally necessary under the bright, white summer moon, but experience told him it would be soon.

As he walked he did wonder, absently, if she were the type to dig her heels in and demand a better explanation from him. For all the short-lived moments he spent with her, Taru wouldn't delude himself into thinking he could predict Pippa's every move. But she didn't seem real go with the flow. He was certain he'd given her good enough warning at least: You're back in the boonies, Rossi. Maybe she already had an idea. Maybe he was about to get badgered.

Tyler’s grin prompted a smile from Pippa. She watched him for a moment — perhaps a bit too long — until she realized maybe she was supposed to. It was then that her focus shifted from his face to hands, taking in how he released the clutch and then the gear lever only after the engine came to a stop completely. At the sound of his voice, her eyes found his face again, amused by the sight of his raised brow.

“Might be,” she said, even she absolutely was. “What’s the going rate for an hour of Tyler Kobayashi’s time these days?” She asked, shifting in her seat so her body was more angled toward him. “You know, I have some skills I can teach myself. To trade. You ever learn to clean a wound properly after all these years?” Looking at him then, she could still picture him: eighteen and bloodied, visiting her in the dead of the night. She never got the details, what he’d done or where he’d just come from. Just that he needed some cleaning and patching up. And she always did help.

His right eyebrow joined the other in inching upward as Pippa continued. Tongue poking out to prod at the corner of his mouth, the heel of his palm knocking against the steering wheel, Taru unexpectedly folded and looked forward through the windshield for a moment. The one working, dim, and moth-ridden street lamp didn’t do all that much when it came to illuminating the road ahead of him without the aid of the bright summer moon. He let his head fall back against the headrest, then tilted his face to look at her again. “I’m not one of those bleedin’ heart assholes, yunno,” he started drolly, “but I ain’t stingy neither.” When she brought up wound-cleaning, he snorted and rolled his eyes with perfunctory derision that he didn't sell half as well as he did at 18.

“Still don't think I’ve got soap and water down pat?” he asked, purposefully simplifying the process. Suddenly, he straightened and then leaned a little toward her, but still kept a careful distance, reaching over her lap to access the glove compartment. He usually got bored sitting still for too long and right then he felt particularly antsy all of a sudden, fingers itching to mess with the window crank or fiddle with the radio dial, and he had a thought on his mind. Taru knocked the side of his fist against it, then pulled it open. Inside, right on top, there was a mess of empty cigarette cartons, a broken pair of sunglasses, an odd-colored rock the little baby Briar had given him, and an unopened bag of peanut M&Ms.

First, he grabbed the bag of candy and dumped it into Pippa's lap, and then continued to sift through the items until he found what he looked for: a small flashlight and a Swiss Army knife. When he was finished, he closed the compartment and held out the folded-up knife between his middle and forefinger. "Hold onto this?" he prompted, falling back into his seat. He had been able to, faintly, smell what might've been her shampoo. Very quickly, he decided he couldn't sit there much longer without the engine humming under him—no stretch of road to distract him.

.

“That’s ‘cause I’d give a dog a much cooler name, like—Sledgehammer or Reaper,” Taru started, his grin cutting, metaphorically side-stepping Pippa’s question for a second. Though the thought of a dog that looked like Kiko answering to a name like Siege or Beast was laughable. And besides, he never thought of himself as a dog person. His grandma once had a bird. A cockatiel, he was pretty sure, named Peppermint. Taru would sit on the faded overstuffed armchair in his grandparents’ living room, on his knees, and peek into her cage as she twittered about. Hina at the kitchen table with her back perfectly straight as she helped sort the mail or whatever, Minoru on the floor watching Richie Rich or Fraggle Rock. Peppermint was able to mimic bits and pieces from the theme songs of both shows.

After his grandma died, Peppermint started tearing out the feathers on her stomach and slowly stopped eating. And one day, the cage was empty. His grandpa had given her away, he said. Taru wondered if Earl had just snapped its neck like he would a chicken. Taru thought he could’ve taken pretty good care of Peppermint if he had been given the chance. “But my ex named her. You remember Steph Kent?” Steph was studious and serious and kind of mean in high school. And in a school that small, he figured they crossed paths.

West Virginia University. Seemed far away despite being well within state lines. “College parties sound like hell anyway,” he said dismissively. Most parties were hell actually. With too many people and the wrong kind of music, he’d always find himself in a corner with a beer as both Steph and Randy darted around making actual conversation. He snorted a laugh as she continued. “But a soft blanket and ice cream… Well now, who could ask for more? Staunch chocolate guy, myself,” he said wryly but with some genuine amusement. He tried to imagine it, tried to imagine taking steps out of Lockhorn and into a new kind of life. It was easy to see it for Pippa: poised and kind and smart. His brain recoiled at the thought of himself in that position, for more than one reason. It wasn’t like it was what he ever wanted. “But what I’m gettin’ is that college is about as mind-numbin’ and full of shit as I always thought,” he continued, the second half not something she offered up evidence of but what he still firmly believed anyway. He thought about how she mentioned working and actually felt curious enough to ask about it. “What kinda job you’d do? Said you worked.”

Hush you. Taru smiled, then stopped. He reached up to rub his palm against the center of his chest for a couple seconds, then dropped it to grip the steering wheel again. He and Pippa never talked all that much about anything more than the practicalities of wiping the trail of caked blood from his temple. They knew each other in the way that everyone seemed to know one another, then she moved next door at the tail-end of high school, and then she was gone again. He didn’t know why her laughter meant anything to him. His brow furrowed a second. “How far’s your cousin’s place from work?” he asked, tapping his thumb against the leather beneath it. “Sounds like a shit deal.”

What do you think I should get? she asked him. Nothing that’ll rip holes in my pocket. Taru let out a low, disappointed whistle. “Damn. I was gonna suggest we go in search of that hot pink Miata. Sounded like that’s what you’re secretly gunnin’ for.” He haphazardly knocked his hand against the indicator and turned right onto South Fayette Street. Slower than he’d usually take it as he thought. It sounded like Pippa needed something that would just get her from one place to another with minimal issues. “But yeah, lotta Fords do fit the bill,” he continued and lifted his right hand to count off on his fingers. “Versatile, practical, economical.” He paused, then added drolly: “Soulless.” He knew a guy in Beckley who was selling an ‘83 Ford Fiesta for cheap about a month ago. Taru wondered if someone took it off his hands yet. “But if you can’t drive stick that really limits me here.”

-

“Steph Kent?” It took Pippa a moment but a face eventually came to mind. “Oh yeah, I know her.” They never ran in the same circles but her sharp mind had quite the reputation. Especially in a school as small as theirs. A sort of relentless intelligence that couldn’t be ignored. Admirable, really. “I had no idea you guys were together,” she admitted. Then again, that shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. It wasn’t like Pippa paid much mind to anything outside Matt and their circle back then. She and Tyler may have known each other but it wasn’t like they were friends. Friendly, maybe. But it would be dishonest to claim they were anything more than that. 

Her mouth curved upwards into a smile. “A timeless choice. Though I’m more a vanilla girl myself.” In more ways than one, much to her dismay. Pippa resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her own predictability. “It’s… not for everyone.” After her years pursuing higher education, she could definitely admit that. “But it’s also what you make of it. I’m sure other people had a more enjoyable experience than I did.” To her, college wasn’t a time of self-discovery full memories to cherish. It was a stepping stone to get what she actually wanted. She was sure if there was less pressure on her shoulders, she might have enjoyed college as much as Matt did. 

What kinda job you’d do? Said you worked. “I did a few things. I started with on-campus job opportunities. You know, Data Entry Clerk within the academic departments. I was Library Assistant for a while. Then later, I tutored. Sometimes I’d pick up a shift for a friend at one of the diners near school. Towards the end, I worked part time as a patient care technician. Really helped with the line of work I wanted to get into.” Listing it all out, it was no wonder why Pippa didn’t have much fun at college. She was always on the go. When she wasn’t, she was studying. Whatever time she had between that was split between recovering from the load she took on and Matt. “Riveting, right?” She said after a beat at her own expense.

“Not too far,” Pippa answered after thinking about it for a bit. “Maybe 10 or 15 minutes? Dom works at the Old Forge Sheriff’s Department.” He was the only one of her cousins who still lived in Lockhorn County. Not married. No kids keeping him here either. He just loved the place and couldn’t think of anywhere better to be. “It’s not an ideal situation but it’s what’s working right now. Once I get that car, I’m sure it’ll be a lot better.”

He was actually appreciative of the long list of jobs Pippa took on throughout her undergraduate career, letting out a low whistle by the end of it. If there was one thing someone couldn’t say about Pippa Rossi it was that she was lazy, he guessed. Riveting? she prompted. “Fascinating,” he answered, the corner of his mouth quirked up. Mostly, he thought it sounded exhausting. Taru had a schedule, a mostly stable routine now that he hit thirty trips around the sun. But at no point could he stomach anything too rigid, to have every day accounted for down to the minute. Humans needed wiggle room, time to give in to impulses and make rash decisions—or he did, at least. It felt like suffocation if he didn’t. He took another turn, a left onto Maple Street.

10, 15 minutes. She was right. That wasn’t too far, but still, his lips thinned as he thought, only tempted out of distraction by the sound of her laugh. Taru himself let out an unexpected one when he felt her hand connect with his arm in a lighthearted smack. In light of her answer, he’d intended to play at disappointment—to point out that when she was off planning all 24 hours to her day, he’d been mastering the real important skills. How to drive manual cars, develop solid race strategies, roll a perfect joint… and more embarrassingly, how to use the whittling kit his grandpa had gifted him. But then he was caught by the implication of her following question.

“Reckon I’m kinda offended you’re out there assumin’ I’m not impartin’ wisdom on the regular,” he started wryly, shifting gears as he slowed down on the next road they turned on to. There wasn’t much there, American beeches and a half-paved sidewalk that was bursting from the roots that traveled beneath it to their left. To their right, through the dim night, there was a large open field—an old barn sat forgotten, partially dilapidated and fully abandoned, the dark blue-ish hills cresting like waves behind it. The whole picture was a whole lot prettier in the daylight, but the sky was clear and there wasn’t much sound but the gentle hum of crickets and tree frogs. That and the car’s engine, which softened to a purr.

As he pulled over, he shot her a grin. "I do," he continued, then as if imparting a warning: "Just not always for free." He kept the clutch in and the transmission in gear then set the parking brake. After he turned the key and shut off the car, he waited for the moment for the engine to stop completely then released the clutch and then the brake. Taru did it slowly, methodically, and with ample opportunity for Pippa to watch. Once done, he raised an eyebrow in her direction. "You anglin' for a lesson?" He paused a beat, then added in a lowered tone, mimicking her use of his full name: "Pippa Rossi."