“Nope.”
“It’s kind of funny when you think about it.”
I turn my head toward her just enough to meet her eyes, letting the weight of my expression say exactly hownotfunny I find it. “There is nothing funny about attempted vehicular manslaughter.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying hard not to laugh again, then lifts one shoulder in a playful shrug. “Fair. But it’s a greatmeet-cutestory.”
I frown, my brain catching on the unfamiliar phrase. “What the hell is ameet-cute?”
Her eyes go wide for the briefest moment and then she looks out the windshield, too casual, too fast. “Nothing!” she blurts. “Just…just a silly expression. Not even sure where I heard it.”
The tips of her ears have gone a little pink.
“You’ll want to take the next right,” she adds, all business now.
I do as instructed, changing lanes and trying to focus on the task at hand. But her laugh is still echoing in my head. I inhale and smell a soft, clean scent. Her soap? Shampoo, maybe? Will my truck still smell like her after she’s gone? Do I want it to?
This is exactly why I’ve been avoiding her. She’s a distraction.
I notice a mechanic shop across the street, reminding me of her predicament.
“What are you going to do about your car?”
“Hmm? Oh. Right.” She shrugs but a small line appears between her dark blonde eyebrows. “My friend Jess can probably drive me to work until the end of the week. She’s a police officer and lives nearby. Sam doesn’t have any extracurriculars until Saturday. I’ll figure it out.”
I should let it go. It’s none of my business. But her words from the parking lot keep looping in my mind. Needling me like the persistent ache in my knee.
I’m a single mom with a mountain of debt and a horrible credit score.
“Can’t the boy’s father help you out?”
She doesn’t answer right away. “No. He’s not involved in our lives anymore.”
Does that mean she’s available?Christ, Ace.
“There’s the community centre just up ahead,” she adds.
I flick on my signal and ease into the nearly empty parking lot. The building is older. Flat-roofed, faded brick, the kind of place that’s probably seen better days…or decades. A group of people linger by the glass double doors, chatting in small clusters, their breath visible in the late afternoon air.
I pull up near the entrance and spot a boy standing off to the side, glancing at my truck with mild curiosity. He squints at the vehicle, then does a double take when he spots his mother waving from the passenger seat.
Elliot’s scrambling out of the car before I’ve even shifted into park, practically bouncing as she jogs over to him.
“Hi, sweetie.” She beams, wrapping her arms around him like she hasn’t seen him in a month instead of a few hours.
I sit back in my seat and watch. The affection in her voice is unmistakable. I wonder, briefly, if anyone has ever looked at me that way. Loved me like that. I doubt it.
Sam returns her smile, smaller but sincere. There’s a calmness in him, something grounded. When he peers around her to see who’s behind the wheel, his brows inch upward. I nod. He nods back. His eyes are all Elliot’s. Green and curious.
“The bad news is Millie wouldn’t start for me,” she says to him in a grave tone, like she’s delivering news of a fallen comrade.
“She finally died?” he asks, already resigned to the loss.
“No, no. She’s just sleeping. I’ll get her checked out. With a little rest and a lot of?—”
“Money,” he cuts in, deadpan.
“Love,” she corrects, “she’ll be good as new.” She reaches out to ruffle his sandy blond hair. He ducks, a beat too slow.
