I grab my phone and call Casey’s Automotive, because that's what responsible adults do when their car dies. He tells me it'll be forty-five minutes to an hour. Friday night, lots of calls, he'll get to me as soon as they can.
So, I sit. In my dead car. In the rain. Fifty yards from my high school reunion.
I should call a cab. Or text Levi, except he's three hours away dealing with his shit and I'm not about to bother him with this. Or I could walk. It's only two miles home. In the rain. In the dark. In the jeans and old cardigan I wore to work because I wasn't supposed to be going anywhere except the grocery store.
I'm seriously considering the walk when someone knocks on my window. I jump so hard I hit my head on the roof.
There's a man standing in the rain, leaning down to peer through the glass. He's backlit by the inn's lights, so I can't see his face clearly, just the outline of him: tall, lean, wearing a button-down shirt that's getting soaked.
I crack the window. "I'm fine, thank you. I've already called for help."
"Ivy?"
My brain stalls out completely.
Because I know that voice. I haven't heard it in fifteen years, but I know it the way I know my own heartbeat. He steps closer, ducking his head so he can see me better, and the light catches his face.
Owen Harper.
Except he's not the Owen Harper I remember from high school. This Owen is... more. Taller, broader in the shoulders, like he grew into himself in all the years I wasn't looking. His dark hair is shorter now, and he's wearing glasses—simple, wire-framed, the kind that make him look exactly like what he is: a doctor. Put-together. Successful. The kind of handsome that you can see from a mile away.
My mouth has forgotten how to form words.
"It is you." He smiles, and it transforms his whole face. Makes him look younger. Almost like the boy I remember. "I wasn't sure at first, but... wow. Ivy Rose."
I finally remember how to speak. "Hi."
Smooth, Ivy. Very articulate.
"Car trouble?" He glances at my Honda like he's diagnosing a patient.
"Something like that. It just died."
"Did it make any sounds before it stopped?"
"Several. All of them bad."
He laughs. "Mind if I take a look?"
"You're going to get soaked. And you're dressed for..." I gesture vaguely toward the inn. "That."
"I've gotten wet before. Pop the hood?"
Before I can argue, he's walking to the front of my car. I pull the hood release and watch through the windshield as he props it open and leans in, completely unbothered by the rain soaking through his shirt.
I should get out. I should help. I should do something other than sit here staring. But I'm frozen, my mind racing in circles. Owen Harper is here. Owen Harper is looking at my car. Owen Harper recognized me.
He said my name like he was hoping to see me.
That can't be right.
After a minute, he closes the hood and comes back to my window. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his glasses spotted with rain. He looks unfairly good.
"I think it's your alternator," he says. "But I'm a people doctor, not a car doctor, so don't quote me on that."
"That's... probably expensive to fix."
"Little bit, yeah." He shifts, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You waiting for a tow?"
