The scent of Thor that morning—strong, woody, intense like him—began to turn her stomach. Nausea rose in her throat and mixed with the nervousness of being next to him, the memory of the withering look he had given Roberto, and the pressure she put on herself for seeming to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person.

She tried to take a deep breath. Once, twice. In vain.

The tension in the car was almost palpable. And Thor, oblivious—or pretending to be—kept his eyes fixe