But hers... hers seem worse somehow. Hers seem like they’re still chasing her.
“So?” Her voice is soft behind me, and I straighten up, wiping my hands on my jeans even though they’re not particularly dirty.
“Alternator’s shot.” I close the hood and turn to face her.
God, she’s beautiful.
Even with the worry lines between her brows and the way she’s hugging herself against the cold.
I continue, “You need a new one.”
“How much is that going to cost?” She’s already reaching for her phone, probably to call a tow truck, probably to tell me thanks but she’s got it handled because that’s what she does— handles everything alone.
“Let me give you a ride to the clinic.” The words are out before I can second-guess the choice. “Jake —he’s a mechanic friend of mine— he can take a look and give you a fair price. But right now, you’re going to be late for work if you don’t leave soon.”
She hesitates, and I can see the war playing out across her face. Accept help and be vulnerable or refuse and maintain control. The choices are few and I know which one I hope she chooses.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” she says finally, and something in my chest cracks at the careful way she says it. Like she’s been told too many times that she’s inconvenient. That she’s too much trouble.
“Willa.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “You’re not an inconvenience. You’re a woman whose car broke down and who needs a ride to work. Let me help.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse. But then she nods, just a tiny dip of her chin, and says, “Okay. Thanks, Henry.”
The way she says my name is like honey dripping from Baklava.
“Wait here. Let me grab my keys and tell Mark I’m taking a break.” I jog back into the bakery, my heart pounding harder than it should just from helping someone with car trouble.
But this isn’t just someone.
This is her.
The woman I’ve been half in love with since the first time she walked through my door looking lost and scared and trying so damn hard to pretend she was neither.
Mark looks up from the register when I rush past. “Where’s the fire?”
“Doc’s car died. I’m giving her a ride to the clinic.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Is that so?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” But his grin says otherwise. “Just saying, you’ve been making googly eyes at her for three months. Maybe this is the universe giving you a push.”
“The universe gave her a dead alternator. That’s not romantic.”
“It is if you play your cards right.” He tosses me my keys from the hook by the office door. “Go. And Hunter? Don’t fuck this up.” Mark’s the only one who gets to call me by my last name. Except her, she’s allowed to call me whatever she wants.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But I’m already heading back outside, where Willa is standing by my truck, looking small and uncertain in her puffy coat.
I unlock the passenger door and open it for her. “Your chariot awaits.”
She manages a small smile as she climbs in. “Some chariot.”
“Hey, this truck has…character.” I close her door and round to the driver’s side, my breath fogging in the cold air.
When I slide into the cab, the space suddenly feels intimate. Small. I’m hyperaware of her presence— the way she’s pressed against the passenger door, giving me as much space as possible. The way she’s clutching her coffee like a lifeline. The subtle scent of her shampoo, something floral that cuts through the cinnamon that probably clings to my clothes.
“Seatbelt,” I say gently, and she clicks it into place.
