Ephram started toward them.
I sank back in the seat, heart thudding, equal parts mortified and determined.
Of course he would see this.
The truck sat silent beneath me, unapologetic and heavy, as if to say it would be here whether I figured it out or not.
And apparently, so would witnesses.
Chapter Nine: A Lesson
Ephram
I noticed the truck before I noticed Lydia.
It sat at an awkward angle in the Snowdrop Inn parking lot, nose pointed slightly toward the inn as if it had tried to escape and reconsidered halfway through. It was older than anything else nearby, boxy and solid. Its paint had faded from time.
Then I noticed the audience.
Jane stood closest, hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale, her face fixed in an expression that suggested she was prepared to intervene at any moment despite having no idea how. Kitty paced a few steps behind her, arms slicing through the air as she offered advice that changed halfway through each sentence. Mrs. Bennet hovered near the edge of the sidewalk, coat half-buttoned, posture rigid, eyes wide with the kind of concern usually reserved for children near open water. Lucy leaned against the railing by the entrance, arms folded, gaze sharp and assessing, already bracing for how badly this could end, while another sister whose name I couldn’t remember, sat on the step and watched.
And in the middle of it all sat Lydia in the truck.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead.. Her hair had slipped loose from whatever had been holding it back, strands escaping around her face. She looked determined. She also looked exhausted.
The engine stalled again, the sound final.
I cut my own engine and stayed where I was for a moment longer than necessary, letting instinct take over.
Old vehicle which probably had a manual transmission with an inexperienced driver. The crowd was too close and giving conflicting advice which was causing Lydia’s stress level to climb.
I had seen situations spiral faster with less.
I got out and walked toward the inn instead of the truck. William Bennet stood a short distance away, hands in his pockets, weight settled comfortably on one foot. He watched Lydia the way someone watches weather roll in: attentive, calm, trusting that it would pass if left alone.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
William nodded toward the truck. “This is the float solution.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
“It’s an antique pickup,” he continued. “Runs well enough. Lydia’s learning to drive a stick shift.”
I glanced back at the family clustered nearby. “You’re not teaching her.”
William let out a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t survive the attempt. She’s a need-to-figure-it-out-herself kind of girl.”
That matched what I had seen of her so far.
“Insurance?” I asked.
“Fully covered,” William said without hesitation. “I added it to the policy before she even turned the key.”
“Good,” I said. “Roadworthy?”
“It is,” he replied. “Although if she is, that’s another story. Lydia hasn’t left the lot.”
Behind us, the engine turned over again, sputtered, then stalled hard enough that Kitty groaned audibly.
