Deliberate sarcasm?
“A GP.” The title slipped from my lips. Then I continued like an absolute arsehole, “I could perform an emergency tracheotomy with my eyes closed. How hard can this be?”
She laughed and gestured to the engine. Her teeth glistened perfectly white in the torchlight as she passed it to me. “Be my guest.” The action made me shiver. That might have been the rain – I’d forgotten to put on my coat. Even with the umbrella, the wind whipped rainwater onto my face and it trickled down my back like chilled fingers while I bent over the engine, taking in all the various pipes and cylinders.
It felt like reading a foreign language. One I knew I could get to grips with if given enough time to study. I spoke passable French and Spanish and had taken up German in my free time. I could get a goddamned car running.
The tourist folded her arms, her fingers flicking over her forearms while I studied. I stemmed the urge to reach out and still them.
That is definitely the battery, I mentally ticked off the square black box. I moved the torch beam. And I was sure that other thing was called the alternator, but it was impossible to tell if there was something wrong with it from sight alone.
“Maybe if I google it.” I fumbled for my phone, making a mental note to do some research into cars. I was a fixer by nature. When I came across a problem I couldn’t solve, it consumed me until I put it right.
“Oh my god.” Clearly exasperated, she wedged herself into my space, tangling her hands in the material of my jumper. My pulse jumped. Mouth gasping as she tugged me close enough for the heat of her body to seep into mine and . . . dried her hands on the end of the fabric.
“Hey, do you know how much that cost—”
“Got any water?” Using both hands, she unscrewed the cap of a translucent little reservoir in the centre.
I blinked. Brain stumbling. “In the car.”
“Can I have it?”
“You’re thirsty?”
Her teeth flashed again. She was laughing at me. “It’s for the car.”
I returned in moments, handing over the metal water bottle with the urgency of a man desperately trying to ignore the mud seeping into his socks. She poured it into the reservoir and stepped back.
“How will that help?”
“It’ll cool the engine down,” she said, like she’d done it a thousand times before.
After a minute, the engine stopped steaming and I realised I’d been had. “You never needed any help, did you?”
Her lips twitched. “No. I know a little about cars. Well, this car anyway.” Replacing the cap, she handed the bottle back to me.
I became thankful for the rain; it cooled my burning cheeks. “Why even let me try?”
“I needed to wait for it to cool down enough to get the cap off. And I really needed a good laugh. Your ‘I’m a doctor, how hard can it be’ speech was the most entertainment I’ve had all week.”
Fucking excellent.
“I’m so glad I amuse you.” I ground my teeth together. “You can take it from here?”
“Yep.”
“Wonderful. Kinleith village is in that direction.” I pointed over my shoulder and turned back to my vehicle.
“Hey!” she called after me. I paused, despite myself.“You should give me your number in case I break a nail next time.”
Ha, ha, ha. Who knew the English had jokes? “Have a nice life,” I threw back, dragging my soaking body into the driver’s seat. Not bothering with my seatbelt, I shifted the Land Rover into first gear and half mounted the bank to circle her car.
My shoes squelched against the pedals, definitely ruined. I had a mind to send her a bill. But that would involve seeing her again.
The adjoined cottages sat a few twists and turns down the lane and I pulled up a few minutes later, ignoring my allocated parking space out front and parking on the gravel around the back instead. Thankful I didn’t have neighbours, I let the SUV idle, trying to trick my brain into mistaking the engine’s quiet rumble for white noise. Or whale sounds, that was supposed to be relaxing, right?
Mind still churning, I stared at the crooked little structure. No desire to go inside. The lights were off and I’d left the curtains open, the darkened windows gaped back at me like lonely, uninviting voids.
