“Because you missed your calling as a hot mechanic on a calendar.”
He pulled his head up and glanced at me, one brow raised, a smudge of grease on his cheek. “You’ve been thinking about me on calendars?”
“Only since last night,” I deadpanned.
He smirked. “That’s fair. It was pretty spectacular.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes, unable to deny it.
“The big battery cable is still snug, but the small spade connector, basically the trigger wire, wiggled when I nudged it.”
“So you got this?” I asked, walking over. “Because I didn’t get the feeling she was sticking around to make sure.”
“I got this.”
He grabbed a 1/4-inch nut driver from the grey toolbox and leaned over the fender. With a little twist and pressure, he snugged the terminal onto the stud, then gave the wire a gentle tug to test it.
“Millie played dirty,” I grumbled.
“I didn’t mind.” He looked at me from under the hood and waggled his brows.
“You’re pretty handy, Florida,” I said, trying to keep it casual.
“Florida lumberjack, if I recall.” He glanced at me again.
“You’re going to keep milking that title, aren’t you?”
He leaned in further and twisted something beneath the hood. “I feel like I’ve earned it. Stranded in the woods. Fixed a truck. Survived your beaver fan club.” He realized what that sounded like and shook his head. “Not beaver as in…”
I laughed and shook my head. “I swear what I have is contagious.”
“What’s that?” he asked from under the hood.
“Foot in mouth disease.”
He peeked around the edge of the truck and gave me a devastating grin. “Not a chance. I’m always calm, cool, and collected.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.
This felt dangerously good. So good that I almost forgot we were only a handful of days away from goodbye. From Ben returning to Florida, and me going back to refilling coffee pots and explaining to Millie why she couldn’t suggest blind dates during check-in.
He straightened with a grunt, wiped his hands on his jeans, and slammed the hood closed with a satisfying clunk.
“Well?” I asked.
He turned to me, one hand on the truck. “Try it.”
I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
Clarabelle coughed.
Then growled.
Then—like a miracle—roared to life.
I whooped, punching the air. “Yes! You’re a wizard!”
Ben leaned on the door frame. “I’m available for roadside rescues and wilderness spooning, apparently.”
