Outside her fogging windshield, the road stretched along the deep green forest and disappeared into the mist. No other cars were in sight, not a sign of civilization. And only one mechanic shop within a fifty-mile range. She knew the number to that garage by heart, even now, nine years later. Not that she was counting.
Selena sighed. She had to call someone. The car wasn’t going to fix itself, and weather along the Lake Ontario coast was notoriously unpredictable. Rain could quickly turn into ice, then feet of snow, so waiting out the storm in her broken-down car wasn’t an option. If she didn’t dial that familiar number, who else could she call? Her parents had moved back to Mexico long ago, and her closest high school friends had fled their hometown after graduation, just like she did. Everyone she was close to was gone. Or related to Jace.
The old, familiar ache of regrets and wants andwhat ifschurned deep in her gut, the same way it did every time memories of him snuck back into her thoughts.
The way he used to smile at her.
The way he used to slip his hands under the hem of her shirt when he held her, his fingers warm against her skin.
The way his voice heated her, deep inside.
What if he answered the phone?
Selena bit her lip. Last she’d heard, people were crossing state borders to get Jace Wilkinson to restore their antique Mercedes Benzes. He’d taken his father’s garage and made it into something bigger, just as he had planned nine years ago. It was bad enough just to drive through Sacred Harbor and see the name Wilkinson on that sign. Every time she passed it, leftover memories settled in the pit of her stomach, churning.
But some poor young kid was probably stuck on Sunday tow truck duty, not Jace. And that gave her courage.
Selena looked out the window into the endless pine forest and shivered. The sky was darkening. The sun was probably nearing the horizon behind all of those storm clouds, and the car was getting colder by the minute. There was no good way to avoid what she had to do. She blew out a breath, pulled her phone out of her purse, and punched in the number.
Nothing happened.
She tried again. Still nothing. Selena studied the screen. No signal. Of course. People came to the Lake Ontario coast for wilderness, not guaranteed cell phone coverage.
Selena blew out a breath and turned to look out the rear window. The bridge over the river was still in sight. Which meant a break in the hills that lined this stretch of the coast. It was either backtrack to that bridge—on the chance that the opening meant cell phone coverage—or walk another ten miles home.
She zipped up her jacket, threw the hood over her head, and stuffed the phone in her pocket. Grabbing her keys, Selena pulled on the handle of the door. A gust of rain blew in, and the wind slammed it closed. She tried again, leaning against the door to wedge it open, then slipped out before it blew shut again. Definitely still pouring.
She jogged along the shoulder of the road, dodging puddles and larger stones as the raindrops echoed loudly under her hood. Water pounded at her back, soaking through her designer coat, versatile forany vacation, according to the tag. Clearly, the designer hadn’t had the pelting rain of Upstate New York in mind.
By the time Selena reached the bridge, the rain had turned to sleet, and she was shivering in fits. Her shoes were sticky and soaked, stretched a size or two larger, and her back was half-numbed. Apparently, “water resistant” was a slippery term in the raincoat industry. She pulled out her phone and huddled over it, zeroing in on the corner of the screen.
Thank God. Coverage.
Selena dialed the familiar number from her past with a shaky finger and pressedcall. The wind roared in her ears, and her teeth chattered as she waited. Three rings. Four rings. Finally, a voice came through above the din.
“Wilkinson’s Garage. How can I help you?”
Jace. It was him. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. If she spoke, there was no turning back.
Chapter Two
“Hello? Are you there?”
Jace Wilkinson glanced at the garage’s phone. Someone was on the line, but he couldn’t hear worth shit because of a raspy static, probably wind. He considered hanging up, but it was raining and cold as hell outside right now. Exactly the reason he had kept the line open today while he was working, even though he had given his on-call driver the day off.
He tried again. “Can I help you?”
“I n-n-need a t-t-t-t-tow.”
The voice was mostly lost in the wind.
“Where are you?”
“Heading n-n-n-n-north on Lakeside Road, j-j-j-j-ust past Willow River.”
Something about that voice sent a familiar prickle down his spine. It was hard to hear, but… He frowned, focusing on the call.
“What kind of car?”
