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I haul my prized sweatshirt and myself back into the front seat and shove my arms into the gigantic thing while he circles the truck and opens the driver’s side door.
“I was cold,” I blurt out. Clearly, I’m the neurotic one here. I’m not cold; I’m still covered in sweat from my earlier antics. I shiver dramatically and curl into the citrus-scented sweatshirt.
I stare past him, pretending to be fascinated with the traffic on the street, hoping he’ll take the hint and change the subject.
“You could’ve turned the air down.” He gestures to the dial in the middle of the truck’s console. It’s about a quarter of the way into the blue zone, and the AC light is on.
Shit, my luck with cars is fantastic today. Maybe it’s just luck with life in general.
“Sweatshirt’s fine, thanks.” My voice is muffled as I make a show of burrowing deeper.
He shakes his head and climbs into the cab. I’m sure he knows I’m a bit nutty by now since I clearly don’t act like a normal person.
The positive part is, my neuroses haven’t scared him off yet. He’s gotten back into the truck instead of handing me the fuel can and telling me to start walking. Or worse, calling the cops to report an escaped mental patient.
Wanting to look busy and avoid any more awkward conversations, I fish out my phone and text Mom the name of the garage.
We pull onto the road and are almost back to the gas station before I get the courage to speak again.
“Thank you again for helping me. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’m glad I had a can on hand. Those suckers are stupidly expensive now.”
“I really owe you,” I say, trying to infuse as much normalcy into my voice as I can.
“I just wish I had one that was full.” Matt signals to turn into the station.
“Me too,” I reply with fervor, but I remind myself at least I didn’t have to buy one. I’d seen the price tag on the gas station shelf earlier. Thirty dollars for a five-gallon container. What a rip-off.
I feel my face heat up as I realize he probably thinks I’m near destitute. Maybe he’s only helping me out of pity. I mean, I am broke and look like a bit of a recluse today with my slightly baggy work clothes, but you generally don’t like that information getting around, and no one likes to be pitied.
“But it’s alright. Gas isn’t too expensive right now.”
Cue the lunatic grin for cover. Gas went up ten cents since yesterday, and I’m desperately trying to maintain my denial of the situation.
The truck rolls to a stop next to an empty pump, and I rummage through my purse, trying to find a card that’s not close to being maxed out.
While I’m still searching, I hear the whoosh of gas moving through the pump lines. My face burns even more hotly when I see Matt’s already got the can on the ground and is carefully filling it. He definitely thinks I'm a broke charity case. Fantastic.
I lean over and stick my head out the driver’s side window. “I could’ve gotten that.”
“No problem. It’s only five gallons.” He smiles at me, and I feel like Rapunzel in her tower. From this angle, I can see the breadth of his back as he’s bent over holding the pump in the gas can and the distracting way the veins on his forearm stand out when he squeezes the gas pump handle. “I had some coming from my rewards card anyway.”
Peeling my hypnotized gaze off his forearms, I say, “That should have been for you. I’ll pay you back.”
Shit, why’d I say that? I can’t afford to do that.
“Really, it’s not a problem.”
Okay, Nore, keep your mouth shut and accept a gift when you need it. “Thank you.” Gratitude is a virtue, after all.
He nods and watches the pump gauge so the can doesn’t overfill.
Gas would splatter everywhere. Explosions would rock the town. My emergency texts to my mom would be for naught since Matt’s kindness would result in multiple fatalities.
Thank god he’s conscientious because my special talent is the ability to create an apocalyptic scenario from any situation.
I watch his shirt pull tight around his upper arms as he works to screw the nozzle and lid back on the portable can. There’s a new kind of fluttering in my stomach as I covertly ogle him hoisting it into the bed of the truck.
