. .” I pause to untangle my suddenly clumsy tongue, wondering if I should just pitch myself off the side of the cliff and be done with it. “I’ve had a really crappy day on top of a really crappy couple of months, and the truth is, I just enjoyed watching you too much to stop you.”
“You enjoyed watching me take off the tyre?” he asks a little uncertainly.
“Yes. It’s not a weird fetish or anything. Your muscles definitely helped.”
“I guess . . . I admire your honesty.” He looks like he wants to chuckle again.
“As much as you’ve admired my legs?”
Ha! Touché, am I right?
“You caught that, huh?” he says, making his way to the other side of the car. Opening the driver’s door, he climbs in.
“What are you doing?” I deliver my question through the passenger window, my fingers curled over the glass. Maybe I should buy a sign for the dash like they have on roller coasters—you need to be this big to drive this car, or in other words, somewhere under five foot five—because he looks like a giant sitting in the driver’s seat, even sliding the seat all the way back. “This thing isn’t going anywhere. You’ve already taken off the tyre, remember?”
“I remember. I’m taking your honesty and your legs for that drink.” The engine turns over, and I pull back from the window when it becomes clear he’s securing Fred. Windows up, car locked, he rounds the car placing both the keys and my tiny purse in my hand. “We’ll drop off the keys at the village workshop,” he murmurs, tilting my chin. “And maybe later, you can watch me take off something other than a tyre.”
I die. Right there on the spot.
It seems like the drive to the village will be a short one, and absolutely preferable to a hobbling trek uphill. Especially as a fat raindrop suddenly splats against the windscreen, the first of a sudden deluge that sounds like a thousand hammering fingertips on the car’s canvas soft top.
“Looks like we made it just in time,” he says as he turns the key in the ignition. The car unexpectedly thrums throatily to life, more a roar than the rattle I’d expected.
The wipers at least have the decency to squeak.
“That glass of wine is definitely on me,” I demur, ducking my head to stare at the downpour. Storm clouds gather higher up the mountain, dark grey staining the twilight’s lighter shades. “This dress is dry clean only and would probably be more doll than woman sized by the time I traipsed up that hill.”
“I don’t see a problem with that.” In the darkened car interior, his teeth are a flash of white. A sudden thrill washes through me, and I know I shouldn’t feel like this, but the anticipation of what’s to come is almost killing me.
And what’s to come is . . .
Me. I’m sure of it.
I’m sure my mother would have a fit if she could see me now, but the only stranger-danger risk I’m in is that I might explode from anticipation. But I am my mother’s daughter, aka cautious, so I take a moment to assess my current situation.
Have I been lulled into a false sense of security by his help or his easy manner?
No. I don’t think so. I’m not getting serial killer vibes from him. Maybe because I’m sitting in the front passenger seat and not the trunk.
Or the boot, as we say at home.
Or le coffre d’une voitre, when in France.
I wonder if he speaks any French. It would be pretty hard to work in the region without the language. I also wonder if he feels as I do. Needy and reckless, almost like I’m operating a little outside of myself.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” The sound of his voice brings me back to the moment, my answer somewhat of a shock to even me.
“I might.”
“Only might?” he answers, amused.
“Maybe we could just see how this evening goes.”
“Interesting.” The lights from a car going the opposite way sweep over his face, highlighting his expression before shadowing it again. I’m not sure if that look was amusement or determination. Maybe a mixture of both.
I bite my tongue to prevent a dozen questions from offering up every thought in my head. Maybe it’s the darkness that makes the moment feel like a confessional. Everything is easier in the dark. Except maybe finding your bed without stubbing a toe or two. I glance furtively