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Evie gives him a wry look—she obviously knows as well as I do that it won’t be the garage who pays for the repairs. The woman driver stares at him as if he’s a Christmas angel. Which, I guess, he sort of is. If angels have stubble, tattoos, and look at you as if they’re thinking about kissing you all the time.
“Seriously?” the woman asks.
“Yep. They’ll be here in ten minutes, and they should be able to get the work done today.”
Her chin trembles again. “Thank you so much.”
“No worries at all, glad I could help.” He ruffles the little boy’s hair. “Bye, Harry.”
The boy rests his head on his mother’s shoulder and gives him a shy smile.
“Want me to give a statement?” Mack asks Evie.
She shakes her head. “Ms. Beaver explained what happened and she’s given us a sketch.” She’s very professional and doesn’t smirk at my name. “But I do need you and the other driver to take a breathalyzer test.”
“Sure.” He blows into the machine.
My heart races for a moment, until she nods and says, “You’re fine.”
“Can we go, then?” he asks.
“Of course. Thanks for your help. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say. He nods, then puts a hand in the small of my back and guides me back to the Aston. We get in, and I sit back and blow out a long breath.
“If you’re going to throw up again, please don’t do it in my Aston,” he teases.
“I’m not. I’m just a bit shaky.”
He starts the engine. “You need to get some food in you.” He rejoins the traffic, turns into Hobson Street, and heads for the wharf.
“That was a nice thing you did there,” I say softly.
He shrugs. “It was the least I could do.”
“Aw, Mack. Not many people would have done the same.”
“Most people can’t. There’s a difference. What kind of person would it make me if I could help and choose not to?”
I don’t reply, but I carry on looking at him as he turns onto the wharf and parks the car.
“What?” he says, turning off the engine and looking over at me.
“Nothing. How did you know the police officer’s name?”
“She’s Huxley’s sister.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. He’s got four of them, so you’re bound to bump into one from time to time.”
“Wow, four sisters. Younger, older?”
He chuckles. “One younger, the rest older. They mother him. Elizabeth always says it’s why he assumes he can charm any woman he meets.”
Smiling, I unbuckle myself, and we get out.
“Over here,” he says, and he leads the way across the wharf to a small café called Coffee Time. He opens the door and lets me precede him.
