She inhaled.
Owen felt the contact too.
He stepped back faster than necessary.
Autumn smiled faintly.
“You always this bossy?”
“I have a nine-year-old daughter.”
“So yes.”
“Professional-level.”
She laughed.
That was when Owen’s phone vibrated again.
He looked down.
A message from his sister.
Autumn’s still stranded on I-70. Don’t leave yet.
Owen stared.
Autumn noticed.
“What?”
He turned the phone instinctively away.
Too late.
She had already seen her name.
Her expression changed.
“What did that say?”
“Nothing.”
“Owen.”
He looked up.
She knew his name.
Of course she did.
Still, hearing it in her voice did something uncomfortable to him.
He handed her the phone.
Autumn read.
Her playful expression disappeared.
She read again.
Then looked at him.
“That’s not funny.”
“I didn’t write it.”
“Who did?”
“My sister.”
“Why would your sister say I’m still on I-70?”
Owen frowned.
“Because somebody told her.”
Autumn pulled her own phone from her handbag.
The screen remained dark.
She pressed the side button.
Nothing.
“My phone died about fifteen minutes after my car did.”
Owen looked toward his message.
“When did you last text anyone?”
“Eight thirty-four.”
“Who?”
“Your sister.”
“What did you say?”
“That I was stranded.”
“That I might be late.”
“And?”
“I sent my location.”
Owen scrolled upward.
He had not been directly messaging Autumn.
His sister had insisted on handling introductions until they met.
Owen thought it was ridiculous.
Now he was glad.
He opened the family message thread.
“What number is yours?”
Autumn recited it.
Owen frowned.
“That isn’t the number she’s texting.”
Autumn froze.
“What?”
He turned the screen.
His sister had forwarded a screenshot earlier.
The number differed by one digit.
Autumn took the phone.
“That’s not mine.”
Owen looked at her.
“Then whose is it?”
Autumn stared at the number.
Her face lost color.
Owen noticed immediately.
“You recognize it.”
She handed the phone back.
“No.”
“That looked very much like recognition.”
Autumn stepped away slightly.
“I don’t know.”
Owen’s instincts changed.