Page 15 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

Do you have plans tonight?

Me

Not in town. Went to Providence to see Whitney.

It wasn’t the first time I had blown a tire, I just wasn’t planning on it happening today. I pocketed my phone and slipped out of the passenger door, trying to stay as far away from the highway as possible. I popped the trunk, scooted my road trip necessities aside, and opened the spare tire well.

Shit.

It was empty.

I groaned as I closed it back up and slammed the trunk shut. The last time I had been back home to visit my family, Shep had insisted that I replace my spare because it was old and he was worried it wouldn’t hold up.

. . . And I had left it sitting at his house.

I quickly swiped into the roadside assistance app that I paid handsomely for a membership to and put in an emergency service request. I leaned against the fender as the little dots swirled around in a circle.

We have your location. The estimated time a service technician will reach you is five hours.

Five hours.

Five hours?!

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered as I kicked the blown-out tire for good measure.

I cursed up a storm as I wiggled back across the front seats and slumped behind the wheel.

And, of course, a text from Ryan was waiting.

Ryan

Do you have an ETA for when you’ll be back in the city, or are you staying with her for a few days?

It wasn’t like I had anyone else to talk to at the moment.

If I called or texted Whitney, Wander, or Shep, they would freak out.

Waiting five hours for a new tire wasn’t ideal, but I wasn’t an idiot.

A single woman walking along the highway to find help is basically the start of every slasher flick.

So, I cracked my windows an inch and locked the doors.

Me

I was on my way back, but blew a tire.

He texted back immediately.

Ryan

Send me your location.

Me

Calm down, Prince Charming. I have roadside assistance and they’re on their way.

Ryan

How long until they get there?

Me

Soon.

Ryan

How long?

Me

This afternoon.

Ryan

How long?

Me

ETA for a service truck is five hours. Apparently, they’re very busy today.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared, then nothing.

He never texted back.

I laid the driver’s seat back and closed my eyes. I didn’t want some well-meaning serial killer to see me in here and stop to offer help when he really wanted to make a sweater out of my body. I had dry skin. I wasn’t an ideal sweater candidate.

Geez, I really need to stop reading Whitney’s books.

I tried to put roadside serial killers out of my mind, queued up an audiobook on my phone, and slumped in the seat. Naps were always a good idea.

The constant rocking of the car as vehicles whizzed by on the highway made it impossible to fall asleep quickly. I had just dozed off when someone knocked on the window.

Had it been five hours already?

I paused the audiobook and elbowed my way into a sitting position.

I would know that ass anywhere. Ryan stood with his back pressed against the car, keeping an eye on the traffic as he knocked.

I rolled the window down. “What the hell are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “You gonna let me in or are you gonna make me stay out here and become roadkill?”

Reluctantly, I unlocked the doors. Ryan eased around to the other side of the car, then paused, assessing my tire.

I checked the roadside assistance app, hoping they were right around the corner. We have your location. The estimated time a service technician will reach you is two hours.

Great. I looked into the rearview mirror and spotted Ryan running back to his car. Running. Apparently, a flat tire was what bested the legendary Ryan Ford.

Thank God. I was nearing feelings territory, and I hated it.

And then he turned around.

Those tattooed muscles bulged as he hefted a tire out of the backseat.

Not a spare. A full-blown, brand-new tire.

I heard the thump as he set it beside the blown tire, then headed back to his car and came back with a jack.

I wiggled across the seats and slipped out of the passenger’s side door, safely onto the grass. “What are you doing?”

Ryan looked up from where he was kneeling beside the tools. “Changing your tire. You’ll still need to take it in to get them aligned and rotated, but it’s safer than trying to get back to the city on a donut tire. Those aren’t supposed to go more than fifty miles.”

“I know how to change a tire. I usually have a spare. I just left it back in?—”

Ryan stood and wiped his hands on his gym shorts. “Willow.”

“What,” I clipped as reality set in.

Ryan had dropped everything and driven two hours to get to me. And somehow, he managed to find me somewhere in Connecticut.

His hand was gentle as he smoothed it down my arm. “Let me do this for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Not as an apology for that bit about being lame for buying vibrators and seltzers that you tucked into your speech at Rom-Con?”

Ryan chuckled as he pumped up the jack. “I’m not sorry for that.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“I’m sorry that I made you feel bad,” he grunted as he worked the old tire off.

I opened the trunk and spare tire well so I could store it in there for now.

“I was teasing you, and I took it too far. Personally, I’m a big fan of vibes. They feel great for men too.”

“This is not the conversation I expected to have on the side of the road,” I grumbled.

Ryan laughed. “But I’m not sorry I said it. I got your attention, didn’t I? I wanted to ask you out when we were in line at the pharmacy, but you left before I finished checking out.”

He had wanted to ask me out before all of this? Something unfamiliar bloomed inside of me, breaking through the frost.

I watched as he put those muscles to good use, getting the new tire situated. “I have questions.”

“Shoot.”

“How’d you know what kind of tire I would need?”

“Lucky guess,” he admitted. “I hoped it would fit, but if it didn’t, I was still coming out here to sit with you so you didn’t have to be alone while you waited for roadside assistance.

You never know who will stop and pretend to help just because they see an easy victim for a robbery or some shit. ”

That blooming warmth began to flower.

“How’d you find me?”

“You strike me as a GPS girl, so I found the address of Whitney’s pie shop and put it in. I figured I’d drive up on the suggested route and keep an eye on the side of the road for any disabled cars. I looped around and stopped three times before I found you.”

Roots began to grow as I watched him tighten the bolts.

“I’m gonna follow you back, just in case something happens,” Ryan said as he lowered the jack and packed his things back in his car. “Take your time getting back on the highway. Wait for a big break in traffic so I can pull out behind you.”

I imagined Shep saying the exact same thing to Lisa.

Shep . . .

I pulled out my phone and sent him a quick text with a photo attached: one of the ones we took from the festival. He must have been timed out on the road or at a truck stop because he replied faster than ever.

Shep

Happy looks good on you, Autumn. But if he changes that smile on your face, I’ll kill him and go from state to state, sprinkling body parts.

“Do you need to make any stops on the way back to the city?” Ryan asked as he swung his keys from his finger.

I canceled the roadside assistance request, pocketed my phone, and shook my head. "No, I have enough gas to get all the way back.”

“All right. Drive safe. Call me if something feels off.”

“Ryan—” My hand landed on his arm, and he froze. Our eyes met—his dark and devious ones clashed with my green. “Thank you.”

The serious look he had been wearing ever since he tapped on my window eased into a smile. “Anytime, cupcake.”