Page 71

Whitley

“Shit. No, no, no.”

This was not on the agenda this morning.

I smack my steering wheel as a fresh plume of smoke billows out from under the hood of my piece-of-shit car. Because of course it picked a backroad where I have no service to self-destruct.

I pop the hood, step out into the hot sun, and immediately regret wearing this dress. It’s cute, sure, but not exactly grease-friendly. It was intended for a business meeting.

The engine hisses.

“Awesome,” I mutter, grabbing my phone. I try Violet first when a bar appears, indicating I might have a little service. Straight to voicemail.

Rowan is next. I know he’s busy as hell with his business now that they’re back from their honeymoon, but I dial anyway, because hope is a stubborn little traitor. No answer.

I don’t have Jake’s number, which is tragic. I make a mental note to rectify that grave error as soon as I possibly can.

I scroll through my contacts, thumb hovering over Beau’s name.

Nope.

I’d rather walk barefoot through hot coals. Or drink gas straight from the tank. Or⁠—

The engine lets out a sputtering cough that sounds suspiciously like a final breath. I groan and flop back against the driver’s side door, tilting my head to the sky. “Why me?”

I stare at Beau’s name again. He’s the only person close enough who would know what to do and actually be able to help.

Damn it. I really don’t want to call him. But as another puff of smoke curls around my head like a middle finger, I suck in a breath, press the Call button, and lift the phone to my ear.

It rings once before he answers.

“Whitley?”

I close my eyes and sigh. “Hey. So… I think my car just died. I didn’t know who else to⁠—”

“Where are you?” His tone shifts, tense with concern.

I glance around at the empty stretch of road. “That back route to North Creek. You know, the one with all the curves?”

The worry in his voice is immediate. “Is your car pulled completely off the road?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“Listen carefully.” His tone drops lower, that commanding edge creeping in. “Go find some shade somewhere off the shoulder. Get away from the car, Whitley. I don’t want you getting hit. People drive like assholes on that road. I just got in the tow truck. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Okay, yeah,” I say as I glance around for somewhere to wait. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good girl.”

The words hang in the air, and for a second, I freeze. My heart skips a beat, a sudden warmth crawling up my neck.

Did he…?

I hear the sharp intake of his breath through the phone. “Shit. I didn’t mean⁠—”

“It’s fine,” I cut him off, though my voice is a little breathier than I intended. “I’ll wait for you.”

There’s another pause before his reply comes. “On my way.”