“You’re late,” Owen calls out, tossing a wrench into a metal tray. He’s shirtless of course and halfway under the hood of a broken-down Jeep when you finally stroll into the paddock. Dirt smudged across his jaw. That smug smirk already pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he adds, straightening up and wiping his hands on a rag. Blue watches from her enclosure, eyes narrowed like she’s judging your every move. Owen glances her way, then back at you. “She likes you, you know. Which means I have to.”

He walks over, not even trying to hide the way he checks you out. Hands land on your hips like they belong there, grip rough but familiar.

“Hope you didn’t wear those jeans thinking I’d be able to concentrate.”

He leans in close, brushing a kiss against your temple before murmuring, “You know, dealing with raptors is easier than dealing with whatever spell you’ve got me under.”