Page 10 of The Fall Affair

He pointed to the olive trees across the road that I was hoping he’d forgotten about. “Do you use private land as toilets in America?”

I felt my already-pink face heat red. “What was I supposed to do? My car broke down. I’ve been driving for an hour and a half, and there was no rest stop!”

The man gestured up ahead. “There’s a caffé just over a kilometer away.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “And how was I supposed to know that?”

He turned and pointed to a sign probably only twenty feet ahead. It was blue and white and had a fork and knife on it.

I shut my eyes. “I’m having a really bad month.”

When I opened them, I found a slight curve at the corner of the hot guy’s very full lips.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying my humiliation,” I said.

His hidden smirk bloomed to a smile and turned out to be the best view I’d had all day. And that was saying something since I’d landed in Rome and spent the last ninety minutes driving through beautiful Tuscany.

“What is wrong with your car?”

“I think I might’ve run out of gas, though I’m not sure how that’s possible since I just picked up the rental, and they usually give it to you with a full tank.”

He lifted his chin to the little Fiat. “You have anything to put da petrol in?”

“Not unless you want to pour it into a two-thousand-dollar designer bag and watch me cry.”

His lip twitched before he turned to his Vespa, grabbed his helmet from the handlebars, and swung a leg over. The guy looked like a model in an advertisement for those scooters. “I come back with da petrol,” he said.

“What are you going to put it in?”

“No worries, eh. I figure it out.” He pulled his helmet over his head and started the Vespa.

Before I could even say thank you or offer him money for the gas, the guy drove off.

Ten minutes later, I was actually taking pictures of the olive grove when the Bzzz Bzzz returned. It was a damn good thing the guy driving the scooter was nice enough to help because not a single car had come through while I’d been waiting for him to get back.

He took his helmet off as I crossed back to my car.

“Mature olive trees, they only get watered once, maybe twice a week.”

“Ha-ha. I was actually taking a picture this time. I forgot how beautiful it is around here.”

His eyes flickered up my body and met my gaze. “Yes. It is.”

Alrighty then.

He climbed off the scooter and walked to the back of the car. I followed and watched as he unscrewed the cap and stuck the nozzle in.

“Where did you get the container?”

“Enzo.”

“Oh.” I shrugged. “That explains it.”

His lips curved to reveal that glorious smile once again, and he gestured down the road. “Enzo, he owns the petrol station at the next exit. He let me borrow it.”

“Ah. Well, it’s good to know there’s a station close by so I can fill up.”

He nodded and focused on pouring the gas into my car. When he was done, he set the container on the ground. “See if it starts.”