“Ridiculous,” I mutter to myself as I change the radio stationagain.
Honestly, I should know better. The only music they play in December is Christmas music. And I’m all jingled out. I finally left Chicago a month ago and I’ve been drifting from one town to another since.
The latest stop on the road map? Hope Peak. It’s a nice little town full of whimsical charm but it’s not for me. I could stomach the snow angel competition and the overly cheerful townsfolk, but they don’t need another mechanic.
They already gotAugust’s Auto Body & Repairand he’s not hiring. Plenty of towns need mechanics but he doesn’t. It’s no big deal. I’ll stay here through Christmas and New Year’s. Then I’ll head towards Colorado. I got a buddy up there who is getting married soon. Nicholas signed up to be a mail order groom and according to his texts it’s working out for him and his bride.
Mariah Carey blasts through the speakers of my truck.
“Nope, nope, nope.”
Blissful silence fills the cab. This was the push I needed. I’m going to upgrade the stereo so I can connect my phone and not be left to the mercy of radio hosts. It’s an easy install but after restoring that 1969 Chevy Chevelle I haven’t wanted to take on any personal projects.
I love working on cars but the last thing I want to do after working eight hours in a hot shop is to work on my own. Usually, I’m too tired and irritated by people who don’t understand the difference between conventional and synthetic oil trying to tell me how to do my job.
With nothing but time to kill while I wait out the holidays, I’ve got all the time in the world to replace that stereo.
I’m almost back to Hope Peak when I see the poor girl. 1997 Silver Metallic Honda Civic parked on the side of the road. Probably overheated while it was trying to climb the mountain. The car’s a dinosaur and it wasn’t built for these roads.
The car has a thin coating of snow on the roof, but the windshield is clear. Someone broke down between the time I left to run errands and now. Then I see her.
Silver blonde curls escaping her knit hat and a black sweater too thin to be practical in this weather. It does even less to hide the curves of her body. She turns to face me, and even from a distance her beauty distracts me. Luminescent blue eyes sit above a slightly crooked nose scattered with freckles and a pair of lips pale from the cold.
It's the frantic waving of her companion that keeps me from blowing past the pair. I’m distracted. Every movement of my body feels wrong. Like someone else is controlling my arms like I’m a puppet. I park my truck haphazardly. Fuck. I’m lucky I didn’t steer it into the ditch.
The women watch my approach. One with wary apprehension and the other with shameless appreciation. Unfortunately, it’snot the right woman eyeing me like a prime cut of steak. It’s her friend.
As I close the distance one thing becomes obvious. She’s young. Too young. The car is older than her for crying out loud. What’s more troubling is how much I don’t care.
“Car trouble?” I ask.
“Yes, it broke down—”
“Are you new in town?” her friend interrupts.
Brown eyes ogle me with heat but the oblivious woman trying to flirt with me doesn’t do it for me. It’s the mild look of irritation the blonde goddess shoots her friend that has my cock hardening against my fly.
“I can take a look,” I offer.
“No need,” the brunette purrs. “My dad will have it towed to August’s.”
I barely spare the other woman a glance as she begins to simper and preen.
“Reid Mercer,” I introduce myself.
“Jodi Sizemore,” she replies, shaking my hand. Her friend introduces herself, but I don’t bother listening.
“Could you give us a ride to Hope Peak?”
“Climb in the truck. I got the chains to tow your car.”
“My dad will—”
“I insist,” I interrupt the woman. My eyes never leave Jodi’s. “You look cold. Hurry up and get in the cab.”
“Someone needs to steer the car if you’re going to use chains…” Not-Jodi says. I can feel her gaze on me, but I don’t care how it looks to her. I don’t care how it looks to anyone. They can call me a dirty old man for all I care. The ten or twelve years between us crumble into dust when I look at Jodi.
“Thanks for volunteering,” I tell her friend.
