MAX
The sexy sandwich shop lady is having a meltdown.
Her heated phone conversation caught my attention, her car troubles put me on alert, and I decided dinner could wait a few minutes while I made sure she was okay. She’s definitely not okay.
My brother tells me I have a savior complex, but I’d like to know what’s wrong with helping people in need—especially when they’re as gorgeous as this girl.
She’s even pretty now, wet hair matted against her cheeks, big brown eyes rimmed with red and smudged with black.
Miles won’t admit it, but it’s obvious that this girl is the reason he’s been dragging himself through the torture of yoga classes every morning.
Those big beautiful eyes are staring up at me through the glass—glaring, actually, even though she looks on the verge of shedding more tears. She moves to press the button to roll her window down, but nothing happens.
I crouch down so she can see my face better, and recognition flashes across her features.
I speak loudly to be heard through the glass. “Are you okay? Can I help?”
She opens the door a few inches. “I’m fine.”
My eyes take in the wet clothing plastered to her body, the red splotches on her neck, the tremble of her lip as she holds her head high. “I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s clearly not the case.”
“Why would you worry about being rude now?”
Ah, Miles must have made quite an impression on her. No worries. “Your car won’t start?”
She shakes her head, both in answer and in frustration, as she pushes the ignition.
“Looks like your battery’s dead. I can give you a jump.”
“That’s not necessary.”
She starts to close her door, but I grab it. “It is if you want to drive your car. It’s no problem. I’ll be right back.”
Without giving her a chance to protest, I cross to my car, climb in, and pull it over next to hers. I’m relieved to find the beach towels are still on the back seat. I grab one of them and take it over to the girl, who’s closed her door again, even though the rain has stopped for the moment.
I tap on the window again and offer up the towel, hoping that Miles hasn’t made her so angry that she’ll refuse my help. He can be terse, but he doesn’t usually alienate people.
Slowly, she opens the door, and the defeated look in her eyes feels like a punch to my chest.
“Here. Dry off.” Without a word, she takes the towel from me and blots her long, dark hair. “Stay here and relax. I’ll have you started soon, so you can get your heat going and warm up.”
To my relief, she doesn’t protest, and I get to work. When the time comes, she presses the ignition, and when her car starts, I’m rewarded with a hint of a smile that curves her pretty lips and brightens her eyes.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem at all. Has this happened before recently?” She shakes her head. “Judging by the date on your battery, it’s due to be replaced.”
Her smile falls completely.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t have the money for a battery. It’ll have to wait.”
“You don’t want to get stranded somewhere. Can you put it on a credit card?”
She lets out a derisive snort, and my mind scans through options as I decide on the best way to approach this.
I tilt my head toward the building. “I forgot to tip you last time I got a sandwich. Here.” It’s an outright lie—I never neglect to tip—but she doesn’t know that.
