A single truck roared past on the other side of the divider, its lights flashing over Tristan’s jaw before disappearing down the grade toward Salmon Arm.
“My ex used to say I’m useless with anything mechanical,” he muttered but continued staring as if a solution would rise and present an answer.
Oof.
“So Kristen shamed you over your...lack of MacGyver instincts?”
He snorted.“She wanted someone who could build a canoe with dental floss and optimism.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I said.“Also...sexist.”
He blinked.“Sexist?”
“Yeah.Expecting you to fix everything.”I gestured broadly.“That’s not love.That’s a handyman subscription.”
His mouth twitched.Tristan wiped a hand over his face.“I hate not knowing what to do.The van was supposed to be fine until I got back.”
His voice wasn’t annoyed anymore.It was...small and there it was, the part of him I’d forgotten existed.
Not the confident, controlled version of Tristan everyone else saw.
This part—soft-edged, unsure—was the one who didn’t have all the answers and who hated that truth about himself.
And I felt something in my chest shift.It was dangerous, this reckless urge to step closer, and to make it better.
But I’d learned the hard way: when you start caring about someone’s broken pieces, you start believing you’re responsible for fixing them.And that’s how you lose yourself.
“Hey.”I touched his arm, just above the wrist.The warmth radiated into my fingertips.“You don’t have to fix everything and be everything.It’s okay, you know.”
He looked at me.
And for a breath, the air between us felt like the moment before a match catches flame.The night pressed around us, deep and sharp, the kind of mountain dark that swallowed sound.In that heartbeat, it was him and me, the quiet tick of cooling metal, and the faint smell of fresh mountain air.
Headlights lit up the horizon and an eighteen-wheeler roared on by, the wind kicking up and swirling away the bubble we’d been breathing in.
I put some distance between us.“You should call for a tow truck or something.”
He fished out his phone, thumbed through menus, muttered about spotty service, and sighed a soul-crushing breath before dialing.“Tow truck says at least a couple of hours as they’ve got to send one south from Kamloops.I’m sorry.”
“For what?It wasn’t your fault.”
“Well, this pushes everything back, and you’re not going to be arriving at any airport anytime soon.I’m sorry I’m delaying you.”
I glanced around at the area devoid of benches or even a scenic view.“Could be worse.We could be stuck herewithoutan outhouse.”
His laugh cracked through the chill, brief but real.“Always the optimist.”
“Practical,” I corrected.“And slightly desperate.”
When I returned from the outhouse, he killed the headlights which had been shining for my benefit, and the whole area went black.
Before I took another step, he offered me the crook of his elbow, guiding me to the back of the van.He motioned me inside the cargo bay, where the faint smell of cardboard and grapes still lingered.We silently perched on the edge, feet dangling over gravel, watching the occasional big rig zoom by.The night air nipped at my cheeks.Somewhere in the trees an owl hooted and I shuddered.
“Well ...Since we’re temporarily stranded,” I said, rummaging through my tote, “might as well break out the essentials.”
Tristan’s brows rose.“You travel with essentials?”
“I came prepared for a breakup, not a breakdown, but some overlap exists.”My fingers wrapped around the cold metallic of my trusty flashlight I’d warmly calledHal.
