“How long since anyone checked the engine?”
I blinked. “Checked it for what?”
That smile again—small, disarming. “Oil. Coolant. The basics.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, nobody’s looked under the hood since, like…the previous century.”
“Which previous century?”
I laughed despite myself. “Good question.”
“I’m Torch,” he said. “Restore cars up the mountain. Used to be a mechanic.”
“Used to be?”
“Long story.” He nodded at the truck. “Pop the hood.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yeah, I do. The town mechanic’s gone for the weekend. It’s me or a mob of angry festival-goers.”
I sighed. “Hood release is somewhere…”
“Left side. Under the steering column.”
I found it. The hood popped. Torch disappeared around front, muttering over the unrelenting sound of Mariah.
Thirty seconds later, he reappeared. “When’s the last time this had a checkup?”
“I’ll go with…never?”
“Thought so.” He raked a hand through his hair, confirming why it looked that way. “You overheated. Lucky it didn’t seize.”
“So it’s dead?”
“Not dead. Just angry.” He studied the road ahead. “I can try to nudge it up the mountain to my place—garage, tools, heat. Unless you want to spend the afternoon explaining this to the sheriff.”
I glanced in the mirror. The traffic jam stretched to the horizon.
“Fine,” I said. “You have a deal.”
He jogged back to his truck and moved it off into the grass. Cars moved up to fill in the space, but they were still blocked. He grabbed a jug and funnel and rushed back, immediately getting to work.
While he was doing all that, I stepped out onto the grass, hugging my cardigan. Up close, the food truck looked worse. GlitteryJust Roll with Itsign, inflatable snowmen, cartoon cinnamon rolls wearing Santa hats. A full-on festive disaster.
“Nice setup,” Torch called.
“Not mine.”
“Yeah, figured. You look more like a Tesla driver.”
“Prius. Usually, I just Uber.”
“City girl.”
“Silicon Valley,” I corrected. “UX designer for?—”
The engine roared to life, cutting me off…and doubling Mariah’s volume.
