to my already long and endless trek. I spot a sign up ahead for an automotive garage, and a small ounce of hope filters through my chest. I quicken my stride, trying to get there before they close. I don’t imagine a lot of mechanic shops are open around eight p.m., but one can hope.
My lungs are wheezing, and I’m out of breath, when I finally reach the garage. The lights are on inside, beyond the glass windows, and that hope blooms to life in the confines of my chest. I hurry toward the entrance, but pause, when I spot the older fellow in uniform on his way out.
“Excuse me! Hey!” I wave him down, running toward him in my wedges and soaked dress.
Truly, I don’t think things can get any worse.
I’m wrong. Obviously.
The man starts shaking his head. “Just closed, babe. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
My heart shrivels in my chest. “No, please! You have to help me out.”
He blows out a sigh and peers over his shoulder toward the shop. “Fine. I have a guy in there who can help. If he wants to help you out, it’ll be up to him.” He turns, walking back toward the entrance, and I follow.
“Rome! I got a job for ya!” he hollers, as soon as we walk in. I practically stumble over the threshold, when I spot Roman wiping his hands free of grime. Dressed in the same getup as the older man, I can’t help but stare, mouth agape. The black mechanic jumpsuit covers his long legs, but he has the top half-zipped down, hanging around his waist. He’s wearing a white shirt beneath it that does nothing to hide his muscular physique. It still has grease stains, despite the fact that he has on the coveralls to prevent just that from happening.
I just about swallow my tongue when he glances up, his ice-cold eyes drilling holes into me.
You’ve got to be shitting me.
Turning back toward the older man, I resort to begging. “Please, I’ll pay extra if you stay and help. Please—”
“Look, lady, it’s my daughter’s birthday. I gotta get home sometime tonight. If Rome wants to help, ask him.” With that, he disappears, the bell attached to the door jangling behind him, leaving Rome and me.
Alone.
The air around us grows heavy with tension.
Silence passes between us. The soft trickle of water hits the tile floors from my soaked outfit, but I can’t find it in me to feel bad for that. Instead, all I can seem to focus on is him—the strong, corded muscles of his arms, the golden hue of his skin, and the smudges of dirt on his clothes that should turn me off, but they do anything but. My heart races against my chest, and I swallow thickly. I’m sure I look like a foolish girl, standing here in a dress, resembling a wet dog, in the middle of a rainstorm. I almost want to cry at the shittiness of it all.
When Roman continues standing there, glaring at me, that hope in my chest deflates like a knife to a balloon. “I’ll just let myself out.”
I turn on my heels, taking my puddles of water with me, and freeze at the gruff sound of his voice.
“What do you need?”
Slowly, I turn back around to face him, a sheepish look on my face. “My car is a few blocks away. There was smoke coming from the hood, then it just stopped.”
Roman’s jaw ticks. “Why not call your insurance company?”
I glance down at my heeled feet, unable to look at him. “Because my phone died.”
He blows out a sharp breath, and then he’s gone, the sound of a door slamming shut behind him. My shoulders slump, and I just about fall into a heap on the scuffed tiled floor and cry.
That is, until he comes back.
With a windbreaker in hand, he tosses it at me, jerking his head out toward the tow truck parked in the front.
“Put it on.”
His command is cold and filled with no-nonsense. So I slide the jacket over my body, and immediately, just from the smell, I know it belongs to him. It smells like the very essence of Roman and cars, all wrapped in one. I’m realizing now this is slowly becoming a favorite scent of mine.
Following him out to the truck, I wait as he locks up the shop and proceed to give him directions to where I left my car. While out there in the rain,