Page 29

I straightened so quickly I whacked my head on the bonnet. The lilt was unmistakable. Cole stood a few paces away, an ancient black leather jacket buttoned against the crappy weather, and his hair already damp from the increasing rain.

“It’s making a weird grinding noise when I try to start it,” I nodded. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head at me with a crooked smile. “Can I see?”

I stepped aside. “You can’t know any less than I do.”

Approaching, he ducked his head under the bonnet, unfastening his jacket and shrugging it off as he did so. The rain was falling more steadily now, soaking through my jumper. He held the jacket out to me, already taking in the engine with what seemed like a practised eye.

“Here, lass. Ye’ll catch your death in this weather.”

I hesitated, but another gust of wind made my decision for me. “Thanks.”

The jacket was far too big as I slipped it on, the sleevesfalling past my fingers, but it was gloriously warm and buttery-soft against my skin. It smelled of him, too – the same earthy scent I’d noticed before, like the forest after a rainfall.

Cole bent over the engine, fiddling with something, now wearing only a long-sleeved white t-shirt that was rapidly becoming as soaked as my jumper. The rain plastered the fabric to his back, outlining the lean muscles beneath. As he leaned deeper in, I caught a glimpse of ink showing through the wet cotton – a tattoo of some kind curving around his ribs.

“Can ye try and start it again?” He called over his shoulder.

I slid back into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The grinding was even worse.

He listened intently, then gestured for me to turn it off. “Could be your drive belt,” he said, reaching further into the engine. “Sounds like it’s come loose. Might be worn too.”

I joined him at the front of the car, curious and sheltering my head under the bonnet. He didn’t look particularly worried. “Don’t tell me you can actually fix it?”

He chuckled. “Aye, I reckon I can.” He pushed up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms dusted with dark hair. “Tis only a temporary solution, mind. Ye’ll want to take it to a garage.”

I watched as he worked, struck by the confidence in his movements. His hands were large, but his long fingers were dexterous, navigating bits and pieces that meant nothing to me with complete ease. Water streamed down his face and back, but he didn’t seem to mind. The rain hitting the metal of the bonnet created a rhythmic pitter-patter, and mixed with the scent ofengine oil and his distinctive smell, it all combined to make a surprisingly cosy environment. Standing in a downpour watching a near-stranger fix my car should have been weird, but something about his presence made it almost… comfortable.

“I didnae expect to see you again so soon,” he said quietly, without looking up from his work. “Though I cannae say I’m disappointed.”

I leaned against the car, tucking my hands into the oversized sleeves of his jacket. “You’re the one making a habit of turning up in unexpected places.”

A smile quirked his lips. “I work nearby. I heard your engine complainin’ and… well, when I saw you climb out I couldnae resist.” He glanced up, green-gold eyes sparkling with amusement despite the rain soaking his face. “And your wee car here has character. I felt sorry for it.”

“Is ‘character’ a polite way of saying ‘temperamental piece of crap?”

He laughed warmly. “Aye, mayhap it is. But there’s somethin’ honest about mechanical things. The new ones, electric and the like… they’re too damn quiet with their computers runnin’ everything – they dinnae have asoulin them, like this one does.” He patted what I thought was the engine with something like affection. “She might be temperamental, but she winnae shy away from tellin’ ye what’s wrong, either.”

“You know a lot about cars.” It wasn’t really a question.

“I ken what I need to. I’ve had to learn my share.” He reached for something deep within the engine compartment. “Do you have a spanner?”

“I think so, in the boot.” I headed around to the back of the car and was careful to manoeuvre the toolbox out without too much noise – the last thing I needed was this hot, almost-stranger noticing that I kept a sword and a duffel bag full of weapons in my car. And I was too bloody damp to come up with an explanation for that on the fly, right now.

Bringing the toolbox around to him, I dug out the spanner and passed it over, our fingers brushing. Despite the chill, his touch sent warmth radiating up my arm. A tiny spark of something flared inside me, and my thoughts turned, unbidden, to the drawing of him, still in my satchel on the passenger seat. Why hadn’t I gotten rid of it? What if he saw it, somehow?

Almost bent in half, absorbed in his task, I barely heard him as he asked: “Did you wear the dress?”

It took me a moment to register what he meant. “Yeah, I did in the end.”

“And? Was it as terrible as ye thought?”

“No. And yes.” I pulled his jacket closer around me. “People commented about the suicide – and I couldn’t say anything, didn’t feel like I could—”

He glanced up, pausing what he was doing to assess me with that unusual emerald-gold gaze of his. “Would it have helped? If they’d known? It winnae ha’ brought him back, now, would it?”

I shook my head, and a small laugh escaped despite myself. “No, but it would have shut them up.”