Chapter Text
She’s still out there. It’s been twenty minutes, and she’s yet to so much as crack her door. And, yes, Tim is watching her creepily from his window acting like the psychopath she thinks he is. He’s not, for the record—though he’s not sure his opinion really counts in this situation. He is a little worried she’s gonna die tonight, however. It’s 80 degrees outside and she’s not allowing any ventilation through her car. That woman is going to smother herself out there.
Whatever, not his problem.
He lets the blinds snap closed and pace away from the window.
And then he paces right back and opens them again.
Dammit, get out of the car, woman.
He looks at the clock. 11:30 p.m. He shoots up a prayer to anyone listening above that Luna won’t be too pissed at him when he calls and wakes him up. After dialing her number, he has to wait six rings before a man answers. “Who is it?”
“Wade, it’s Tim.”
He grunts. “What do you want, son? I was already preparing for bed so this better be good.”
He smiles. “Apologies. Can I speak to Luna? It’s kinda urgent.”
“HONEY!” Tim hears him shout. “TIM’S CALLING FOR YOU.”
A few seconds later…
“Hey Tim, what’s up?”
“Hey Luna, sorry to disturb you.”
Wade and Luna were Tim’s mother’s best friends. And since his mother was the one who raised him and his sister, Luna and Grey always treated them like family, too.
“Emergency? Tim, don’t string me along. Your house on fire?”
“No, ma’am. I need you to speak to a woman for me.”
She coughs with disbelief. “A woman? Honey, it’s good to hear you’re looking again, but just ’cause you’re lonely in the middle of the night doesn’t mean I have a list of ladies on speed dial ready to—”
“No,” he says firmly before she continues. “The woman is in my front yard.”
Tim hears the squeak of a chair and imagines Luna whispering to Wade about the gossip. “Tim, tell me now, are you drunk? It’s fine if you are, I’m not the judgy type, you know this. I need for you to call Angela or your sister when you’re drunk, not—”
She’ll go on and on if he doesn’t stop her. “Luna, a woman’s car broke down in my front yard and the engine is smoking but she’s scared to get out because she thinks I’m going to hurt her. I need for you to act as my character reference so she’ll get her ass out of there.” He would call one of them but they would definitely say something off-color about how long it’s been since he’s slept with anyone and then ask the woman what her relationship status is. Definitely not calling them. Definitely don’t care what that woman’s relationship status is.
“Oh, well, dear, why didn’t you say so! Get out there and let me talk to the poor girl!” He hears a twinkle of excitement in Luna’s voice that he doesn’t appreciate or want to encourage. This whole town has been on his back lately to give dating another try, but he’s not interested. He wishes they’d leave him alone about it and let him live in peace, but that’s not their style. And now that he thinks about it, he’s not so certain Luna won’t say something similar to what his sister and Angela would say.
He peeks through the blinds again and sees the woman fanning herself aggressively with her hand. He swears, if he has to call a paramedic and spend the whole night in the hospital losing sleep with this strange woman because she gave herself heatstroke out there, he’ll never open my front door again. He’s one more woman wrecking his life away from boarding up all his windows and turning into a hermit that yells profanities at Christmas carolers.
“Don’t get any ideas, Luna. This isn’t a romantic thing. I just don’t want her to die in the heat out there.”
“Mm-hmm. Is she pretty?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes against the annoyance building up his spine. “It’s pitch-black outside. How would I know that?”
“Oh, please. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
He groans. “Yes.” So damn pretty. He only got a brief look at her with his flashlight, but what he saw had him doing a double take. She had dark hair piled in a bun on her head, a pretty smile, thick lashes, and honey brown eyes. The odd thing is, he feels like he’s met her even though he’s never seen her car in town before. It must have been one of those weird instances of déjà vu.
“Well then,” she says with a pleased sigh. “Take me out to our fair beauty.”
“Luna…” Tim uses a warning tone as he opens the front door and steps outside. The summer heat immediately threatens to strangle him, and he wonders how the woman has survived this long in her car with the windows rolled up and no air-conditioning.
“Oh, hush! It’s not every day a woman is dropped into your lap like this, so zip your lips and hand the phone over.” This is what he gets for living in Rome, Kentucky, most of his life. His neighbors still treat him like the boy who ran through town in his Superman underwear.
Leaving the front door cracked so the phone cord doesn’t get pinched, he walks through the yard toward the little white car. It’s too dark out here to see her features without shining the flashlight at her again, but he does see the silhouette of her face turn my way. And then she immediately throws her seat back. She’s trying to trick him into believing she’s not in there. He refuses to smile at the ridiculousness of it.
When he knocks on the window, she screeches. Jumpy.
“Hey…” You? Woman? Lady currently killing the grass in his yard? “Uh…Here. This is a friend of mine on the phone. She’s going to act as my character reference so you can feel safe to get out of your car.”
The lady pulls the lever on her seat and the whole thing comes flying up. She yelps and he has to bite the inside of his cheeks. Her big eyes peer up at him through the glass, and unfortunately, there’s not enough light to figure out how he knows her, but now he’s convinced he does.
She frowns. “How do you have cell service right now?”
“I don’t.” He raises the phone up so she can see it.
Her eyes drop to it and she laughs. “What is that?!”
You’d think Tim was holding a rare species of animal by the way she’s gaping and laughing. “It’s generally called a telephone.”
“Yes, but…” She pauses to let out another delighted laugh and the sound curls around him like a cool breeze. “Did you steal it from the museum of 1950s history? Now the mannequin with the blue gingham print dress and matching headband won’t receive her husband’s call saying he’ll be late for dinner! Oh my gosh, that cord has to be fifty feet long!”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you going to roll down your window or not, Smart Mouth?”
Her eyebrows lift. “Did you just call me…Smart Mouth?”
“Yes.” And he won’t apologize for it. He’s not trying to make friends with her or make her feel cozy—besides she insulted his phone. He loves his phone. It’s a good phone.
Oddly, her face splits into a full, gorgeous smile and she laughs. It makes his stomach tighten, and his heart thump angrily. Tim tells them both to shut up and behave. He will not be moved by another woman passing through his town. He’s going to help her tonight because (1) it’s the right thing to do; (2) so she doesn’t die in his front yard; and (3) so he can get her the hell on her way again.
“Well, okay, then.” She cracks the window only about two inches so he can slip the phone in. Their fingers brush in the exchange and Tim’s whole body reacts to it because apparently it wasn’t listening to the threatening speech he gave it a minute ago. The woman whips the phone into the car and zips her window back up before he can slide a pitchfork in and impale her.
She eyes the phone warily before raising it to her ear. “Hello?”
Immediately he can picture Luna grinning as Wade sits in the chair opposite her, listening with rapt attention. Five minutes later, beads of sweat are rolling down the back of his neck as he leans with folded arms against the hood of her car, waiting for Smart Mouth to finish laughing her ass off with Luna.
“He didn’t!” she says practically howling and now he knows it’s time to take the phone back. He goes to her door, knocking against her window. “Time’s up. Are you getting out or not?”
She holds up a finger to him and finishes with Luna. “Uh-huh…uh-huh…yeah. Okay, it was great talking with you, too!”
He has to back up when, surprise, surprise, the woman opens the car door and steps out, handing him back his phone. At her full height, she comes to his chin, but her messy brunette bun stands to about the top of his head. Tim doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s cute—classy. She’s wearing a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt tucked into white, old-timey-looking shorts. They’re the kind that climb high on her petite waist, hug the soft curve of her hips, and cut off high on her thighs. She belongs on a sailboat in a black-and-white photo—not from around here, that’s for damn sure. She’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, so there’s no use letting myself admire her looks.
She turns her face up to him, but her gaze bounces nervously back and forth between him and his house. “Your friend, Mrs. Luna, gave you a glowing recommendation, Tim Bradford.” She says his name with a greedy emphasis, gloating that she knows his name but he doesn’t know hers.
“Super, I’m so relieved.” Hus tone is the Sahara Desert. He crosses his arms. “And you are?”
Whatever ease she was starting to feel vanishes, and she takes one large step away, anxious to crawl right back into that death trap. “Why do you need to know my name?”
“Mostly so I can know who to charge for my grass seed bill.” Tim doesn’t mean for it to come off as friendly or jokey, but she seems to take it that way.
She smiles and relaxes again. He’s not so sure he wants her to feel relaxed. In fact, he has a strong urge to tell her not to get comfy at all.
“Tell you what,” she says with a sparkling smile of camaraderie that he doesn’t return. “I’ll leave some cash on the counter for you in the morning.” In the gaping silence that follows her statement, he lifts an eyebrow and she finally hears what she’s just said. “Oh! No. I didn’t mean—I don’t think you’re a…not a prostitute.” She winces. “Not to say you can’t be a prostitute if you—”
Tim holds up a hand. “I’ll stop you there.”
“Thank goodness,” she whispers, dropping her gaze while running her fingers over her temples. Who the hell is this woman? Why is she driving through his backwoods town in the middle of the night? She’s jumpy. She’s a nervous chatterbox, and she gives off the impression of a woman on the run.
“You can stay in my guest room tonight, if you want. There’s a lock on the bedroom door so you can feel safe while you sleep…Unless there’s someone you can call tonight who will be able to come get you?”
“No,” she says quickly. Be can’t read the look on her face. It’s guarded and defiant at the same time, and dammit, he wishes there was more light out here. There’s something his brain is trying to put together about her but he can’t quite make it out.”
“I…” She hesitates, like she’s looking for the right words. “I was actually headed to stay at a bed-and-breakfast near here for some time away from work. So…as strange as it is, I think I will take you up on the use of your guest room tonight and then tomorrow I can call to have my car towed somewhere to get it fixed?” Why does she phrase it like a question? As if she’s waiting for him to confirm that’s a good idea.
“Sure,” he says with a shrug that conveys he doesn’t care what her plans are as long as they don’t include him doing anything else for her.
She nods once. “Okay, then. Yep…let’s…see your house, Tim Bradford.”
A few minutes later, after helping her get a bag out of her trunk and carrying it up to his front door, he steps inside his house and holds the door open for her to walk through. When she passes him, her soft, sweet smell slips under his nose. It’s so opposite of his me-scented home it scrambles his brain for a second. It takes a big eraser and smudges over his usual I’m happy being alone thoughts and doodles in obnoxious little hearts.
She hesitates with her back to him, taking in his living room. It’s not much, but at least he knows it’s not garbage, either. The girls helped him furnish the house after he renovated it, saying he needed a Traditional Farmhouse decor style, whatever the hell that means. All he knows is now he has some rustic, wooden-looking shit that cost him a lot of money and a big white comfy couch that he rarely uses because he prefers the leather chair in his room. It’s homey, though. He’s glad they convinced him to do it and didn’t let him keep living like a miserable bachelor when he moved back here.
His eyes trail from his couch to the little wisps of dark hair clinging to beads of sweat at the back of her neck. And then as if she can feel his gaze on her, she turns sharply. Her eyes collide with his, and his stomach drops off a cliff. It makes sense now why she wouldn’t tell him her name. Why she didn’t want to get out of her car. Why she looks like she’s been standing on pins and needles this whole time. He knows exactly who Smart Mouth is, and any prayers Luna is currently sending up to heaven are going to waste because he will absolutely not be letting myself form any attachments to this woman.
“You’re Lucy Chen.”