Page 24

Why the hell hadn’t I just turned Remy away at the door? I could have given her twenty bucks for her trouble. Twenty bucks I really couldn’t spare but was half of what I’d intended to spend to go out to this stupid show in the first place.

But it was too late to worry about that now. I needed to get my car out of this ditch.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number for Triple-A. Then I remembered I hadn’t renewed my membership.

I tried the gas one more time, gritting my teeth in frustration, hot tears running down my cheeks. Of course, the tires just spun, the car rocking in place.

I grabbed for the door handle, jumping out of the car, slamming the door behind me.

Will hadn’t moved. He was leaning against his car, his arms folded against his chest, snow dotting his shoulders.

“You’re still here,” I said.

“Did you really think I was going to leave you like this?”

I should have been annoyed. I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I was a single mom for god’s sake. I knew how to handle myself. But as much as I tried to re-stoke my irritation, I just found myself oddly touched.

“Even after I was such a... a,”Jerkwas on the tip of my tongue.

“A stressed-out person who just slid off the road?”

I smiled, despite myself. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s okay. Apology accepted.”

I frowned. I’d been working up to an apology, but I hadn’t said it yet. “I didn’t—”

But Will waved his hand at me as if I’d been about to lay it on thick. Then he grinned. He was teasing me.

Except I was too distracted. I don’t think I’d ever seen him smile like that—open and happy and… alive. Even when he’d played with the girls at the park he’d given them more of a pretend scowl for laughs.

“I don’t have Triple-A,” I blurted out, turning away. I needed to move this along, not stand here in the sloppy snow staring googly-eyed at Will Archer. No matter how gorgeous he was, any time of day and in any weather, I still needed my car out of the ditch.

“Don’t need it,” he said, getting up from where he’d been leaning on his vehicle. He walked around the front of his car.

“You going to haul it out with your bare hands?”

His back was to me and he didn’t say anything, but he began pulling on something. His elbow went out behind him, once, twice, and god help me if I didn’t picture him shirtless as he turned around with a length of cable in his arms. Something twinged down low.

“You have a winch,” I finally clued in.

He gave a curt nod and kneeled at my back bumper.

“You’re going to get your nice pants dirty,” I said.

“How do you know I’m wearing nice pants?” he asked, and I swallowed down a laugh. I couldn’t believe I was out here in the dark getting my car hauled out of a ditch by a man in what was likely a designer suit.

My readers would love this.

Really, they would. One more piece of bad luck I could document. Even as I felt annoyed at myself for continuing to spin the narrative I was trying to avoid, I knew I’d get a boost in all the money-making parts of the blog.

“Do you mind if I take your picture?” I asked. “For posterity.” But I couldn’t fib, not about this. “Actually, for my blog.”

“What kind of blog is it? Search and rescue?”

I pinched my lips to keep from laughing. “It’s a food blog actually.”

He paused, looking up at me with a confused face.