As I pull up next to her, I can tell she’s angry. Her strides are longer than should be comfortable, her back ramrod straight, her hands fisted at her sides. Okay, so asking her if she wants a ride isn’t as good an idea as I’d thought when I’d left home earlier. The best I can do is to make sure she gets to the bakery safely.
As with the night before, she drops her keys a couple of times before she can get the door open. I’d jump out and go offer to help, but I’d probably end up with an oven tray wrapped around my head.
Not until the bakery lights flare into life, do I put my truck in gear and head on out to collect that rust bucket of hers. At least this way, I’ve got an excuse to see her again.
I’m working through various scenarios right up until I round that last corner, only to discover that Pinkie Pie isn’t where Skye had left her the night before.
I know damned well Skye hasn’t had time to organize for one of the other towing companies in town to collect her car. I’d have heard about it on the radio if she had.
On pulling over to the side of the road enough that I can look down to the rocks below, my worst fears are imagined.
Firstly, how am I supposed to recover the blasted car? And secondly, how on earth do I break the news to Skye that Pinkie Pie decided to take a dive late last night?
So much for my promise that her hunk-of-junk car would be safe out here.
Well, Buddy, you wanted a good excuse to talk to her…
I snort out. Yeah, not exactly what I had in mind.
