“Car trouble?”
“Yeah,” I say, waving a hand at it. “It keeps making thisput-put-putsound, then dies when I step on the gas.”
“Pop the hood for me?”
I slide back into the driver’s seat and reach down to find the lever that opens the car’s hood, watching as he props it up, effectively blocking my view.
I step out and move to stand next to him, watching as he slips off his suit jacket and neatly folds it before setting it on the roof of the car. He’s gotta be freezing, but he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows. Even in the dim light, I can see the thick cords in his arms flexing as he leans forward to check the engine.
He brushes a hand through his hair – a chestnut brown flecked with silver at the sides that almost shimmers under the street light – and he digs in, pulling parts out and replacing them, feeling for god knows what in there. He does this for several minutes before bracing his hands against the hood and turning to me.
“I have good news and bad news.”
“Bad news first,” I say.
“This car isn’t going anywhere on its own tonight.”
I let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. “And the good news?”
“I was here when your car died, so you have a safe way to get home.”
I should fight him on it. I should insist on getting a cab or something, but I’m so tired. I don’t have the energy to fight him. I haven’t felt good all day, and I just need to get home.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Let me call AAA and we can go.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, “I’ve got it covered. Grab your stuff.”
I do as he says, grabbing my purse from the back seat, and swipe the car key from my key ring, plopping it into his hand.
“Good. Go on and wait in my car. Seats are already warmed up.”
I wait for a few minutes in his car, letting the warmth of it soak into me and relax my aching muscles. He climbs into the car and slides something across my lap, dropping it down next to my legs. I look down to see the black metal of my cane, and mortification floods through me like fire. I can actually feel the burning of the embarrassment on my skin.
“You forgot this,” he says. “It seemed important.”
“It— Thank you.”
He turns to look at me and I feel like I’m burning alive. I’ll spontaneously combust any second, now, I just know it.
I drop my eyes to my lap, avoiding his gaze. Trying to hide from the fire dancing on my skin.
“Why don’t you use it?”
Eyes locked on my lap, I quietly answer, “I don’t want to get in the way.”
“Rowan.” I feel his finger hook under my chin as he pulls it to face him, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re not riding down the halls on a clydesdale. It’s the equivalent of a stick. If you need it, use it.”
“It’s embarrassing,” I admit. “I’m twenty-one.”
“If you need it, use it,” he repeats, more firmly this time.
“You don’t think I’m faking it?”
“You’re hiding the thing in your car,” he says. “No, I don’t think you’re faking it.”
He sounds angry; he’s probably pissed that I didn’t disclose my illness when I got hired. I risked a great, cozy job, just to avoid embarrassment. I really wanted this job. Ineededit. And now that’s at risk because my boss just found out I’ve been lying to him.
“I know your car, you know,” he adds. “I saw it at the party. You’re in an accessible parking space, with the placard to match. It wasn’t my business, so…”
