I turn and face Elijah, anger boiling my blood.

“I’m not a quitter.”

“Sure looks like it. You quit on everyone else in your life except that fancy job of yours. I’m surprised you troubled yourself to come all the way out here, and now you’re just gonna walk away because you can’t stand to get your hands dirty anymore.”

I fist those very hands he refers to on my hips. “I’m not afraid of anything, especially not of getting my hands dirty. And certainly not of you.”

He jerks his chin. “Then get your ass over here and put on some safety glasses. We got a car to chop, and then you’ve got some shit to weld.”

My teeth threaten to crack with how hard I’m clenching my jaw.

I don’t like being told what to do. I don’t like being told who I am and who I’m not. And I really don’t like backing down from a challenge.

That’s how I ended up stealing that first car and ending up in the backseat. My brother threatened to beat me black and blue when he found out, but it didn’t stop me.

No. It took something a hell of a lot more than that.

I square my shoulders and cross the stained concrete floor, my heavy boots pounding as hard as the vein in my forehead.

I whip a pair of safety glasses off the nearest workbench and put them on, not caring if they’re clean. I shed the perfectionist part of my persona when I drove away from downtown and returned to my past.

Here, I’m not worried about trying to fit in or what someone’s going to think if they see the facade I’ve built slip. They’ve already seen the real me anyway.

“Give me a grinder. Let’s get this shit done.”

Once I have the tool in hand, I get to work. I don’t need instructions on where the VINs are that need to be ground off, or where we need to cut. As the saying goes, this ain’t my first rodeo.

Working together with the only sound in the building coming from metal on metal, we finish in record time.

When Elijah finally turns his tool off and steps away, I do the same. He tosses me a rag.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”

“You’re going to let me use the workshop, your metal, and your tools as much as I need, and you’re not going to give me any shit about it.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the workbench behind him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“And what are you gonna give me in return?”

“Not a damn thing.”

His chest heaves with laughter. “Funny. You know that ain’t how shit works around here.”

He’s right, but I’m not about to offer what I know he would prefer to take as payment in a heartbeat—me.

“It’s called paying it forward, Devereux. Good karma.” I mimic his posture and cross my arms, leaning back on my heels.

“That sounds like some hipster bullshit to me. You want to use my shit, you pay for it.”

“How much?” I ask.

He shakes his head, a sly smile curving his lips. “I don’t want your money, girl. You know that.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell not getting anything else from me.”

He uncrosses his arms and walks toward me, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes my face. His boots halt only a few inches from mine.

“You got yourself a man these days? Is that the issue?”

I think of the man who has been haunting my thoughts for the last week. “Maybe.”

This time, Elijah’s forehead creases with shock. “Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky son of a bitch?”

“You wouldn’t know him.” It’s basically the only answer I can give without admitting that I don’t know him either. At least, nothing beyond the wild addiction I’ve developed.

“I know a lot more people than you think. What’s his name?”

A bolt of shame shoots through me at the reminder that I don’t know that either. “Doesn’t matter.”

Elijah steps back, and I’m not sure what does it, but he relents on the subject. “Then you’re gonna bring me a case of whiskey every time you come.”

“Fine—” I start to agree to what is a simple request, but he keeps speaking.

“And you’re gonna owe me a favor. Consider it payin’ it forward,” he says with a wink.

A favor isn’t something I want to owe Elijah, but it’s the quickest way to get what I want.

“Fine, but it has limits.”

He shrugs. “We’ll see about that. Now, go make something. Show me you haven’t totally buried your magic under a pile of boring paperwork.”

* * *

I’ve lost track of time, but I know hours have passed. When I step back and survey my work, my lips stretch in a smile. It’s a phoenix rising out of the flames, and it’s incredible.

I’ve still got it.

I tug the shop rag out of my back pocket and swipe it over my forehead to catch the dripping sweat my worn bandana didn’t.

My arms and shoulders are sore from cutting, hammering, and welding, but it was worth it. Even the scrapes on my arms that my gloves didn’t prevent are badges of honor. A sense of accomplishment floods my system, along with pride and satisfaction.

It took coming back here and seeing it through new eyes to realize I don’t care what some stuck-up old asshole like Standish says. My art is not junk.

It’s revitalization in the most basic way. Taking the old and unwanted, and refashioning it into something new and beautiful that will make people stop and stare.

The copper flames—hammered pieces of tubing and wire, torched to take on a red patina—look like they’re actually burning brightly beneath and alongside the bird.

To create it, I used car parts. Plumbing components. Pieces ripped off of old appliances. It was a mad dash through the scrap and recycling yard, grabbing anything that looked promising, a wild process of piecing together the vision in my head, and a flat-out sprint to bring it to life.

But I did it.

I really did it.

“Well, fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” Elijah says from the garage door, which I heaved open in an attempt to stop myself from shedding a few more gallons of sweat.

I yank the bandana off my head and swipe it over my forehead. “Thanks.”

He closes the distance between us. “I didn’t think you had it in you anymore. Proved me wrong.”

I shift my gaze in his direction without moving my head. “Does that mean you’re going to drop your conditions on me using your space?”

He snorts a laugh. “Not a fucking chance. You pay to play here. That’s life, girl. Should know that by now.”

My stomach gnaws at my backbone and releases a loud growl.

“You want to grab something to eat?” Elijah says. “Crawfish boil already started at Rickety. Bet a few people would love to see you.”

By Rickety, he means the Rickety Shack, one of the only restaurants within ten miles and a staple in these parts. The crawfish boil is a Saturday-night tradition. And me going with Elijah would send the wrong message on every level.

I’m not going backward in life, only forward.

“Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy.” I pull off my grimy gloves and look down at my hands. I’m impressed with the limited number of cuts, scrapes, and broken nails. Totally worth it. Now I just have to clean myself up and decide what I’m busy doing tonight so I don’t feel like I just lied.

Elijah’s voice turns hard. “Hot date with a guy who expects you to be some perfect little princess?”

I wish, is the first thought in my head, but I don’t voice it. My stranger hasn’t surfaced again, even though I’ve kept my eyes open, expecting to see either him or one of those magic little cards, but I’ve been totally SOL on both counts. Every day that passes has me thinking about it more. The craving keeps growing stronger. But that’s not something I’m going to say to Elijah.

“None of your business.”

“Bet I could do you better.” He knows me well enough to taunt effectively.

I shoot him a killing look. “Doubtful.”

Elijah crosses his arms over his chest and instead of being cowed, he postures. “Is that so? You think you’re the only one who’s changed over the years, Tempe? You think no one else has learned a damn thing new or moved out of the little box where you want to keep everyone in your past?”

I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of arguing. “Are you going to help me load this into my Bronco or what?”

Elijah glances back to the phoenix. “Maybe I want to keep it. Use it as yard art.”

My gaze snaps to his. “Someone paid fifty grand for one of my sculptures in the last week, and you think I’m going to let you keep it as yard art? Not a chance.”

“Whoa-ho-ho. There she is. There’s the fire and sass you’ve been hiding beneath that prim attitude. Fake attitude, I might add. Does your man know the real you, Temperance? Or does he just know the perfect little shell you show the rest of the world?”

“He knows how it feels to have me coming hard on his dick, so I’m pretty sure that’s all that matters.”

As soon as the bold words are out, I know I’ve made a mistake. I’m not going back down that road with Elijah, no matter how easy it would be. Time to get out of here, because this place is wearing off on me.

Elijah stalks forward until we’re practically nose to nose. “So do I. Maybe he and I could compare notes.”