and damaged daughter would be crashing with her for another few months.
A chill that had nothing to do with the January mountain wind rolled through me at the thought of that conversation.
I unlocked the driver’s side door to mom’s ancient Buick, dropped my bag on the passenger’s seat, and then inserted the key and turned.
Nothing. Not even any spluttering to indicate that the primeval engine was at least giving it the ‘ol college try. I huffed out a breath and then gave it another go. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
I let loose on a string of cuss words that would make a sailor blush and pounded on the steering wheel hard enough to bruise my hand. My bad wrist sang out at the abuse and I slumped forward. Utterly defeated.
My luck. My shitty shitty luck had struck yet again.
Someone rapped on my window and I glanced up, startled.
Bright blue eyes stared down at me from a stranger’s face. He wore battered jeans and a black and white checked flannel coat with a heavy lining to combat the winter chill. No hat or gloves. He must be a native. Odd that I had never seen him before. Our mountain town was tiny and I’d lived here all my life.
His expression read as concerned, though there lurked a twinkle of mischief in those eyes. He made a motion to indicate that I should roll down the car window. After a moment’s hesitation, I did.
“Are you all right?” He spoke with a distinctly Welsh accent.
I started to laugh. One of those I’m coming unhinged sorts of sounds. I could only imagine what I looked like to him.
If I’d been Mr. Blue-eyes, I would have slowly backed away before turning tail and running for the nearest door in case the hysterical Buick driver went full-on looney tunes in the parking lot. But he simply waited for me to simmer down and respond like a human being.
I wiped away the tears along with a good portion of my eyeliner with the sleeve of my coat. “No, actually. I’m having a really terrible day and now my car won’t start.”
“Do you need me to call a tow truck?” the stranger offered.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
He dug around in his coat. “If you need a phone—”
But I held up a hand and tried to explain. “It isn’t that. My ex owns the only tow truck in town.”
“Ah, sorry to hear that.” He flashed me a dazzling white smile that held a hint of something predatory. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You don’t have the power to go back in time, do you?” I glowered at my wrist.
Instead of giving me the odd look my comment warranted, he crouched down beside the car. “And what if I did? Where would you go if you could travel through time?”
I leaned my head back against the seat. “October 3, 1996.”
He quirked a brow. “That’s…oddly specific.”
“It’s the day that changed my whole life.” For the worse.
“Robin?” A twenty-something woman with perfect platinum blonde hair that hung midway down her back called.
I eyeballed the woman and then the guy crouched beside me. “She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You have no idea. But, it’s not like that. I’m doing some work for her.”
I held up a hand. “Then I really don’t want to hear about it.”
He laughed and then got back up, fished in his back pocket, and handed me a card. Robin Goodfellow, it read. That was all, just his name. Huh, why did that sound familiar? I was positive I hadn’t seen him before. He was worth remembering.
The corner of his mouth hiked up and he nodded to the card. “That’s good for three wishes if we can strike a deal.”
I snorted, “You’re a comedian.”
His grin was infectious. “No, a fae prince. You ever want to bargain, give me a shout.”
I watched him back away before my mind could comprehend another question.
He gave me a two-fingered salute and then escorted the blonde into the restaurant.
“What the hell was that?” I grumbled and then dialed the dreaded ex.
When I’d told Robin Goodfellow that my ex drove the only tow truck in town, he probably hadn’t pictured the elegantly dressed person sitting beside me.
Red nails tipped with gold sunbursts tapped against the steering wheel. “How have you been, Joey?”
I raised an eyebrow that was nowhere near as sculpted as my companion’s. “Fine. And you…Georgia?”
Georgia—who had once been George, the human being who had