Page 28 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

A FLAT

Ben declined Mia’s offer of cake and a glass of wine.

She was grateful because they didn’t have enough for his friends, who also looked like Vikings.

However, four people could have shared the remaining sandwiches and cake.

Mixing sweet and savoury on the same plate was not something she liked to do, but she thought it was acceptable on a picnic when impromptu guests arrived.

With half a tank of petrol, Mia and Oliver packed up their picnic and once again climbed on the BMW.

On the way back to town, Oliver took the loop road.

As they ascended a sharp incline, they passed a station wagon parked on the side of the road.

It had stopped in a no-parking zone, in a precarious position where the traffic merged from two lanes into one.

Oliver pulled the bike into the next side street and cut the engine. ‘A flat tyre. They might need some help.’

Mia had seen the vehicle. Although the driver seemed old, there was a young man in the back seat.

She told Oliver they would have already called for help or contacted roadside assistance.

Besides, the young man had two hands and a mobile phone.

He could watch a YouTube video on how to change a tyre.

Unconvinced, Oliver turned the bike around and they headed back down the hill. At the bottom, they pulled up behind the station wagon and parked in the no-parking zone.

Mia stayed in the sidecar while Oliver dismounted. After pulling off his helmet, he tapped on the driver’s side window, and a brief conversation followed. When Oliver gave her a final nod, Mia knew an arrangement had been made.

Returning to the bike, Oliver confirmed they were not enrolled in roadside assistance, and they were waiting for the woman’s husband to finish work. The burly young man in the back seat, who looked to be in his early twenties, was disabled.

‘Right. We’re fixing the tyre,’ Mia said. She jumped out of the sidecar. ‘I’ve never fixed a tyre before.’

‘I’ll be the one changing the tyre,’ Oliver said. ‘You’ll be directing the traffic. Your job is to keep me alive.’

Mia considered the position of the station wagon.

Parked on a blind corner where the lanes merged.

Oncoming drivers, accelerating to get up the hill, wouldn’t see the parked vehicle until the last minute.

The flat tyre faced the road. Oliver would be in the middle of the lane. A precarious position.

For many years, Mia had harboured a secret desire to direct the traffic.

To control an intersection with a few simple gestures and a blow of a whistle was a skill.

She didn’t have a whistle, but she knew the required hand movements.

Palm stretched at arm’s length for the stop signal.

A gentle wave from right to left would guide the traffic around the parked vehicle.

While Oliver rummaged in the boot of the station wagon for the jack and spare tyre, Mia practised her signals.

‘Okay, you’re on,’ Oliver said. ‘Remember, don’t get me run over.’

Oliver got to work with the jack. He crouched down by the side of the car, staying close to the vehicle. His speed and proficiency with the tools were impressive.

After walking several metres down the road, Mia positioned herself close to the curb. As the cars turned right, swinging around the corner, Mia used her sweeping gesture to guide them out of the way.

The first car honked. Ignoring her hand signals, it passed alarmingly close to Oliver, and the driver blared the horn again. The man in the following car yelled, ‘Idiot. You’re going to get yourself killed.’

Oliver put down his tools. He walked down the road and joined Mia.

‘Do you like me?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I like you very much.’

‘Then why are you trying to get me run over?’

‘I’m doing my best. Please don’t get angry.’

‘I’m not angry. I’m just wondering what this is.’ Oliver imitated her sweeping arm movement. ‘You look like you’re taking a bow.’ He held his hands out, palms facing the road, and bounced them up and down several times. ‘That’s the universal signal for slow down.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘You do now.’

Oliver returned to the business of changing the tyre. The young man seated in the car lowered his window. He reached down and ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair. A head massage followed.

Oliver laughed.

Distracted, Mia missed the sporty two-door BMW that took the corner too wide, accelerated after the turn, picked up speed and missed Oliver by the slimmest of margins.

‘Fuck! Mia!’ Oliver yelled.

Mia stared at him, incredulous. ‘Did you just tell me to get fucked?’

‘No.’

She walked toward him with clenched fists. ‘That’s what it sounded like.’

‘I said fuck. It was one word, like a one-word sentence. Then I said Mia, and that was another one-word sentence. Two unconnected words. They were separate paragraphs.’

She took a breath. ‘Okay. Sorry.’

Again, he bounced his hands up and down. ‘Universal sign. I need about three minutes.’ He pointed down the road.

She nodded. Returning to her post, she practised her bouncing hand movement as she walked to the curb.

As the next car approached, Mia signalled to the driver that there was an incident ahead. It slowed and took a wide arc around Oliver. The following car gave her a thumbs-up. Oliver changed the tyre, and the station wagon continued its journey.

‘Good work,’ Mia said with her hands on her hips.

‘Couldn’t have done it without you,’ Oliver replied. ‘Sorry, I yelled.’

‘Your life was in danger, I understand.’

Back on the bike, they headed for town. Oliver delivered Mia to her house. It was after four. Tash would soon be home from school.

Inside the front gate, Mia snuggled into his arms. ‘Do you want me to…because I can. You didn’t get to add to your orgasm count.’

‘I need to get home. I’ve had a great day.’

‘It was wonderful. And you didn’t get run over.’

He kissed her gently on the lips. And then gently on her cheek, her neck, her chin, behind her ear. His tongue trailed across her skin.

‘I’ll be thinking about you all week,’ he whispered. ‘It’s going to be difficult to stay away. Call me any time.’

Feeling heady, Mia clutched the front fence for support as Oliver drove away.

Her heart was the size of the moon. Something was unravelling inside her and the world needed to know about her picnic with Oliver.

Blanche would love the entire story. Leo would find the tyre-changing incident hilarious.

April needed to know about the picnic spot.

Tash would laugh when Mia told her about the young man in the car playing with Oliver’s hair.

But Mia wouldn’t tell any of these people.

One picnic meant nothing, and Oliver was right; they had Tash to think about.

Later that evening, Holly phoned to check on the date. ‘You sound happy,’ she said.

‘I am happy. But get this, he wore double denim.’

‘Tell me that’s not true.’

‘That would be lying. With a brown belt and tan boots.’

‘Light or dark denim?’

‘Light pants, dark shirt with Italian sunglasses and…a white T-shirt underneath his shirt.’

‘Did you get a photo?’

Mia laughed. ‘No. And you’re not allowed to lust after my Monday man. But honestly, it was like a Vogue photoshoot. Country setting by the river, vintage motorbike, picnic rug, and a Labrador.’

‘What are you wearing on your next date?’

‘No idea.’

‘What about the white lace shirt? Guys like that innocent girl-next-door look. And a lace bra – men love that. That’ll teach him to wear double denim.’