The tire no longer looked flat. I stared at it a minute, confused, until Hank’s voice from last night flitted through my mind.
I can change it for you.
I’d told him I would do it today, and he’d gotten food and come by instead. Did heseriouslychange my tire before he went home? My car was unlocked, so he could have accessed my trunk release and gotten out the spare.
But how did I feel about that?
The flutters in my stomach indicated I wasn’t mad. But I still pulled out my phone and sent him a text.
I said I’d change my tire.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared. Finally, a text popped in.
Hank:
I know, but I barged in and took up your whole evening. It seemed only fair.
I pursed my lips. He’d also brought me food and conversation. It’d been nice. Really nice. Maybe too nice?
Jamie:
I’m not helpless.
Hank:
I’d never think that. Seriously, Jamie, I was just trying to be a friend.
That stupid F-word.
Jamie:
Fine
Hank:
Sorry if I overstepped.
Jamie:
No, it’s good, actually. I totally forgot about the flat and would have been late to lunch. Thank you.
Hank:
Happy to help!
I got back into the car and drove over to The Stag Pub, where Maverick, Silas, and I had agreed to grab lunch today. They had a great Philly cheesesteak special.
Maverick was just pulling up in his Mini Cooper as I arrived. He hopped out and joined me on the sidewalk. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”
“Nothing, thankfully. I’ve had enough of cooking.”
His forehead furrowed. “You got the catering blues?”
“More like the bridezilla blues.”
“Did someone name my theme song?” Silas called, a few feet down the sidewalk and closing the distance between us at a brisk pace. “Bridezillas are my specialty.”
“You gotta stop sending them our way!” I cried. “Help a guy out.”
