I rolled down the window, forcing a smile that probably looked as brittle as it felt. “Hey. So. Funny story. My car won’t start.”
“Do you want me to take a look?”
“You know about cars?”
He shrugged, and I wasn’t sure if the pink in his cheeks was from the cold or from confessing the limits of his knowledge. “I know enough to check the obvious things,” he said, already moving toward the front of my SUV. “Pop the hood.”
I did, then climbed out to join him.
Luke peered at the engine, checking battery connections, jiggling wires, doing all the things that I’d seen in movies and on television, but couldn’t tell you the first thing about what it might actually fix. After a few minutes, he straightened and shook his head.
“Battery connections look fine. Could be the alternator, or the starter, or …” He closed the hood gently. “We should probably call someone who actually knows what they’re doing.” He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck in that way I was starting to recognize as his tell when he felt out of his depth. “I wish I could fix it, but I’d probably just make it worse.”
“You at least looked like you knew what you were doing,” I said. “That’s more than I’ve got.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the number for Jerry’s Auto Repair, the only mechanic in Mistletoe Bay. Jerry himself answered on the third ring, and I explained the situation. Thankfully, he was able to fit me in as soon as he finished up another job.
“Forty-five minutes,” I told Luke after I hung up. “I’ll just wait in my car. I’ve got my phone and?—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he interrupted. “It’s freezing out here. Come inside.”
“Luke, I’ve already taken up too much of your day as it is?—”
“Holly.” He looked at me with those steady amber eyes. “Please. Come inside.”
I hesitated, then nodded. Because honestly? The idea of sitting in a car without power for forty-five minutes sounded miserable. “Okay. Thank you.”
We headed back inside, and Luke guided me to the living room this time instead of the kitchen, where a fire crackled in the hearth. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll make some fresh coffee.”
He disappeared before I could protest, leaving me alone in his living room. I sat down on the couch—which was absurdly comfortable, the kind you could sink into and never want to leave—and took in the space properly for the first time.
This room was different from the rest of the house I’d been shown so far. The parlor I’d be decorating in a couple of days was formal and pristine, while the dining room had the same magazine-quality perfection. But this room? This room actually looked lived in.
A laptop sat closed on the coffee table. A pair of glasses rested on top of a book—something thick with a dark, ominous-looking cover, its title in a bold white font. A blanket was draped over the arm of a chair by the fireplace, and the mantel held a few framed photos instead of carefully curated decorative objects.
This was where Luke actually spent his time. Where he let his guard down. He’d brought me here, to his space, instead of making me wait in one of the showpiece rooms. I wasn’t sure why that felt significant, but it did.
I leaned back against the cushions, letting myself relax for just a moment.
But then reality crashed back in—my car, broken down in his driveway and waiting for a mechanic who may or may not be able to fix it. Who would definitely charge me money I didn’t have.
I pulled in a slow breath, trying to talk myself out of the spiral I could feel coming on. Only, my brain wouldn’t let me.
I couldn’t afford a major repair right now. Between paying rent on my workshop and trying to build back my savings, my bank account was less than healthy.
My throat felt suddenly tight.
Don’t cry. Do not cry in Luke Byron’s living room, you ninny.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing the burning sensation to go away, which was when I heard footsteps in the hallway.
I dropped my hands and blinked rapidly, trying to compose myself.
By the time Luke returned, I’d mostly pulled myself together. Mostly.
“Hey,” he said softly, and something in his tone made me look up. His brows were drawn together, his expression concerned. “You okay?”
I cleared my throat. “Fine. Just thinking.”
