Grumbling, he says, “My car knowledge begins and ends at jumper cables.”
“O-oh.”
He drops the hood back down and faces me. “I’ll call a tow truck for you.”
Throwing my hands up, I squeak. “No, no. That’s okay. It’s late.”
He stares at me. “Yes, and?”
“The towing companies in the area charge extra at night.”
He looks at his huge house, then at my car, then back at me. “Yes…and?”
“I have a friend who can come get me tonight, and then in the morning I have another friend who can…” I stop, short. “Oh. Oh,right. Yes. Sorry. I’m not thinking straight. Of course you don’t want to have my car in your driveway all night.” I don’t even pull all the way up the long drive, so it’s kinda justout here, allwilly-nillyin front of his house.
“I don’t really care about that.” He cracks his neck. “You’re not blocking me in or anything. Won’t you need a car tomorrow, to get to your jobs?”
“W-well… I have some friends I can impose on.”
“Friends,” he murmurs. “You have a lot of those?”
“Um…” I think, count, consider. “Yes? Maybe? How many is a lot? I go to a small book club, and half the ladies are retired or have husbands who work, so I’m pretty sure at least one of them would be willing to let me borrow their car tomorrow. There’s also Jeffry.”
Mr. Anders’s jaw hardens. “Jeffry?”
“We went to school together. He works at Tony’s Garage. His dad’s Tony, so he can handle fixing my car, and I’m sure there’s a car at the shop for me to borrow, too.” I give Mr. Anders a thumbs up. “I have options.”
He stares grouchily at my thumb. “Mm.”
I…do not know what to make of that sound. But I lower my hand and try my best to interpret his glare. Have I done something wrong? Probably. I’m inconveniencing him. But it’s not like I reallydidanything wrong. Cars break down. That happens. I keep my car in the best condition I possibly can, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a nineties kid. In the car community, my dear sweet vehicle is known as aClassic. In normal terms,that means it’s over twenty-five and we must be patient with her arthritis flares.
Inevitably, regardless of my innocence, I find myself apologizing. “I’m sorry for upsetting your evening.”
“You’re not upsetting my evening,” he says, in a tone that seems to screamyou are upsetting my evening. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, glowering at a grease smudge I think he got from my battery. “The…friend you’d call to get you tonight. Is that…Jeffry?”
“Oh, no. That would be my roommate, Fawn.”
“Ah.” Turning away from my vehicle, Mr. Anders murmurs, “Well, you can wait for her in the house. I’ll whip up something quick for dinner.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. I can wait out here. And Fawn will probably be bringing me Taco Bell. And…”
The look he gives me suggests I should bite my tongue.
“I mean…” I’d prefer not to wait in your house. I like my car better. My car is familiar. And I’d rather have Taco Bell than anything you might be able to make before Fawn gets here. And I’d rather not keep her waiting if eating whatever you make takes too long. And… “Okay…” I say, defeated.
As he all but corrals me up to his front door, I wonder if this is how it feels to make a business deal with the big, bad, scary billionaire. His associates merely crumble beneath the weight of his glare until he gets whatever he wants.
Like a loser, I step up his front porch toward the door he pushes open in front of us, motioning for me to enter first.
Hanging my head, I oblige—until a flash of light startles me.
Mr. Anders swears.
“What was—” I begin.
His hand lands on my rump. More light flashes as he pushes me inside. Lips near my ear, he gruffs, “Weird streetlight. Don’t worry about it.”
The heavy door shuts behind us.
