9

Beth

"Oh, come on, start you stupid thing."

I turn the key in the ignition again.

Nothing.

No cough. No sputter. Not even a wheeze.

My car has officially conked out on me.

I first noticed it started making a funny noise driving down the mountain, so I did what any responsible car-owning adult would do in that situation—I ignored it, turned the music up louder, and prayed I made it back safely.

My prayer was answered, and I got home fine yesterday.

Sure, I could have stayed with my family since it would have been a shorter drive to the wedding venue, but that would have meant an extra thirty-six hours in their company, and I had to make a decision—spend time with them or remain sane.

I made the right choice for everyone involved.

As much as I love hanging out with Dad and Schapelle, I can't deal with Mom's constant nagging—When are you going to get a real job? Why aren't you seeing anyone? You know, it's not too late for you to go to college like all your sisters have—being forced to make polite chitchat with Tenley to gloss over the fact we have nothing in common, and fighting over the silliest things with Allie, which always happens whenever we spend more than a few hours together in close quarters.

Not to mention, they're all way too perky and optimistic for my liking. Like, all the time. Mom can switch from criticizing my life choices to chatting about a good news article she found on Reddit in an instant. Even Dad, with his ex-military background, has this whole life-is-good attitude going on. I'm the only Moore who inherited the snark gene.

I really shouldn't complain because I don't have some sad sob story about my childhood. So many people had it much tougher than me. Constantly relocating because of Dad's military career was the most difficult thing we went through, but it actually wasn't all that bad for me.

Being on the bigger side, I quickly came to see that wherever we went, the insults remained predictably the same. That helped in not letting the cruel things people said about my size get to me.

That, and retreating into books.

There's that famous quote about readers getting to live one thousand lives. That's so true.

Long before I was old enough to read romance, I used to love YA, fantasy, and adventure books. I'm talking old-timey classics like Robinson Crusoe and Treasure Island. Immersing myself in the lives of others, from far-off places and worlds so unlike my own, helped me cope with the constant moving and bullying.

When Dad left the military, we relocated here in my senior year of high school because Mom had always wanted to live in a picturesque small town. I knew right away that Comfort Bay was my soul home. It just felt right. I'd never had that feeling in any of the other places we lived.

When Mom and Dad moved up the mountain to Cedar Crest Hollow a few years later, I stayed behind. And I'm glad I did. I know my life isn't glamorous or exciting, but I get all the excitement my brain and heart can handle through books. I actually like the simple life I've carved out for myself.

Even if Mom thinks I should aim for more than working in a bookstore, I'm happy here. I have a close group of friends. I was able to buy a modest house thanks to Mom and Dad helping me out with a deposit. The early morning walks here are the best. And Comfort Bay is the first place where I feel like I belong. There's enough quirky folk in town that it makes my quirkiness not stand out all that much.

I let out a sigh and give the key another turn, hoping that whatever the issue is has miraculously fixed itself in the past sixty seconds, but nope, nothing.

I drop my head. Talk about bad timing.

Evie and Fraser's wedding starts in less than two hours. Since it's such a busy time of year, they've kept it simple—just a ceremony followed by a reception. That's it. No bachelor or bachelorette parties, and the wedding party only includes their siblings. It's a little disappointing since it would've been nice if the Fast-Talking-Five were more involved, but it's their wedding, and I totally respect that.

"Okay, okay what are my options here?" I say to myself.

I could call Dad. He'd drive down to have a look at what's wrong with my car. But there are two issues with that plan.

One, it would take him at least an hour to get here, assuming he could come over right away, and two, there's been some light snowfall up in the mountains these past few days, so I don't want him driving if he doesn't have to.

I take out my phone and scroll through my friend list.

I can't contact Evie since it's her wedding, and she's got enough on her plate.

Hannah and Culver had a huge, combined family Christmas in Starlight Cove and are driving up today, too, but they're taking Chester and Katie with them, so there'd be no room for me.

Summer and Amiel both left yesterday and are already up there.

So…great. I have no one to ask for a ride.

"Dadddyyyyyy!"

My ears prick.

I glance over at my next-door neighbor. Milo, his kids, and two elderly people, who I'm assuming are the grandparents, are on the front porch.

Milo is crouched down, and I can see Jonah clinging to him. Even from this distance, it's evident the little guy doesn't want to see his Daddy go.

Maybe I could ask Milo for a ride?

No.

I couldn't…

Could I?

I watch as Milo gives Josie and Jonah one more hug, and it makes my heart clench. It's amazing how much his life has changed these past few months and how well he seems to be handling it. He's taking to fatherhood so naturally.

"Stay focused, Beth," I remind myself, noticing the time on the dashboard clock.

I chew on my nail, desperately trying to come up with a solution that ignores the most obvious one directly across the lawn from me.

I mean, Milo is driving to the same place I'm going. Asking him for a ride makes sense.

But no…I can't.

Sending friendly, slightly flirty texts back and forth for the past few months is fine.

Sending friendly, slightly flirty texts on Christmas morning to escape the Hallmarky sweetness of my family by reaching out to the grumpiest person I know in the hopes of basking in some of his grouchy glow, also fine.

But spending an hour, in a car, alone, with Milo?

Sooo not fine.

Nope. I need to keep my distance from him. I've already let him slip under my first round of armor, that's as far as he's going to get. I've reached the edge of my comfort zone, and I am not prepared to go any further.

There's a tap on my window, and I scream.

It's Milo.

With my hand on my pounding heart, I shove the car door open, step out, and glare up at his stupidly handsome face, stubbled jaw line, and man-bunned head. "You scared me half to death."

"Well, it's great to see you, too." His green eyes meet mine, a hint of a smile curling his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?"

"I mean, what are you doing back home? I thought you were with your family."

"I was. Got back yesterday. Needed to escape."

"Got it. Um…" He scratches the back of his neck. I don't know if he's wearing a super tight Christmas sweater on purpose, or whether the sweater material has no choice but to cling to his massive muscles, but either way, I've got front row seats for the Milo Payne gun show.

Also, aren't Christmas sweaters meant to be cheesy and not at all sexy?

And also number two…"How come you're not wearing a suit?"

"I don't like driving in a suit," Milo explains. "If I leave now, I'll have time to get changed when I get there."

"Right."

"Um…"

"That's the second time you're ummming at me," I say. "Spit it out, already."

"Okay. Well…You were home all day yesterday?"

"I was."

"Had I known, I would have…uh…you…You could have come over, you know?"

"But I had books to read."

"Of course you did." He bites back a smile and taps the roof of my car. "Everything okay?"

"No. The stupid thing won't start. And don't say it." I point a finger at him, but I overreach and the tip of my index finger lands on his pec.

His granite-hard pec.

A crease forms on his forehead. "Don't say what?"

My finger remains superglued to his body. "Don't say something like, 'Want me to have a look at it…'" I try to mimic his deep voice, but it's a poor imitation since his voice is actually deep. And masculine. Not that that's important right now.

I continue, because I'm just warming up. "…assuming I know nothing about fixing cars. To which I'll respond with a relieved, 'Oh, yes, thank you, Milo. Why, I don't know what I would have done without you.'"

Not exactly sure why I put on a Southern belle accent when I do not speak like a Southern belle, but I'm too deep into my rant to pause and dissect that right now.

"And then you'd smile, all pleased with yourself, and say something like, 'Well, why don't you pop the hood?' your voice laced with innuendo. And then you'd take your sweater off because you wouldn't want it to get dirty or something. And then before you know it, you've got grease stains all over yourself. And of course you can't be a normal guy with a normal body, nooo, you've got to be all rugged and muscular with an eight-pack because six-pack abs are so three years ago. And then, because I feel bad you got so dirty fixing my car, I'd offer to sponge the stains off your chiseled torso and before you know it…"

He steps in closer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Please continue. I want to hear how the rest of this scenario plays out."

"You know…" I tap my foot then glance at my trusty ol' Corolla hatchback. "We'd be having car-trouble-related sex."

He chuckles then quickly clears his throat. "We would be?"

"Yes. Duh. I'm a romance novel junkie, remember? I know how these things work."

"I'm clearly reading the wrong genre," he mutters under his breath, running his thick fingers over his stubble.

I go to move back, but the car traps me in place, so I awkwardly sidestep past Milo to create some space between us because…what…what…What. Was. That?

I have no idea what just came over me. How did it go from Milo asking if everything was okay to me creating—and voicing—a scenario where he and I are having sex in my car?

Oh. I know.

His granite pec.

The reason it's so hard is because it's not actually flesh, skin, and muscle, but rather a portal to my subconscious mind with the power to cause me to blurt out my most private—and inappropriate—thoughts.

Also, I just finished a blue-collar romance series about a group of hunky mechanic brothers that each find love with a curvy girl. That could have something to do with it.

An awkward silence fills the air.

"I actually wasn't going to offer to look at your car," Milo says eventually, kind of looking at me, but kind of not looking at me, as if sensing I'm embarrassed by…I still don't know what that was…and giving me some much-appreciated breathing room. "Mainly because I know nothing about cars apart from how to change a tire. But also because I distinctly remember a certain someone telling me that chivalry is dead."

Normal Beth would insert a quip here.

Mortified Beth has the good sense to stare at her feet and listen to what he's saying while wishing Milo's rock-hard pec wasn't a portal but a time machine so she could go back and redo the last five minutes.

"So." Milo takes a breath. "I'm going to say this, and I hope that you hear it in the way I intend it. I'm being practical here, nothing less, nothing more. You and I are going to the same destination. I have a car that works. It's cold and starting to rain. It'll take time for someone to come out here to look at your car, and the wedding starts soon. So, I'm offering you a lift. I am not being chivalrous. I'm prepared to offer you thirty percent control of music selection, and you can pay for half of the gas if that makes you feel better."

A long beat passes.

I feel…I don't know how I feel.

And I think that's the problem. I'm on shaky ground around Milo for some reason, and I don't like it.

But he's right.

We are going to the same place, and let's face it, I don't have any other options. Because for all my bluster about being faux-offended about a potential offer to look under the hood, I don't actually know anything about cars, either.

I glance upward at the gloomy, gray sky. It's started to rain and the wind has picked up, too. I wonder what the conditions are like on the mountain. Is it worse up there, snowing heavier than when I left?

Because that wasn't a fun drive.

And Milo is offering.

And he hasn't laughed directly in my face about my mini-brain explosion.

I take half a step toward him, keep my hands glued to the side of my body so I don't inadvertently poke any portals or time machines on his chest, lift my eyes to meet his, and say, "Music selection is fifty-fifty, and I'm paying for the gas. Deal?"

He smiles. "Deal."