Brief
Every town has that one person everyone knows.
The one mothers adore.
The one fathers trust.
The one who somehow ends up at the center of every story.
For our town, that person was Rowan Vale.
And he was trouble.
The first thing I noticed wasn't him. It was the wrench.
A flash of emerald metal caught the sunlight as someone slid out from beneath a motorcycle.
The tool looked too beautiful to be a wrench.
Vines had been engraved along the handle.
Tiny gears were worked into the design.
Near the end sat the image of a motorcycle so detailed it looked ready to drive away.
The person holding it finally rolled out from under the bike.
Black hair.
Grease smudged across one cheek.
Bright green eyes.
And a grin that instantly made me suspicious.
"Careful."
He pointed the wrench at me.
"Most people stare at me first before my tools."
I blinked.
"You made that?"
"Obviously."
He looked offended.
Then he examined the wrench proudly.
"Store-bought tools are boring."
