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Looks like my mother’s vet visit will have to wait, and my children will be possibly infected with whatever worms and parasites Mr. Fuzzles has for another few hours.
“Everything all right?” a familiar, broad-accented voice calls out. Hamish exits the barber shop next to the Grove, his grey beard looking neat and trimmed as he strides toward me. He’s wearing dark jeans, a leather vest over a ratty old black tee, and motorcycle boots. He looks cool, in a friendly-old-biker kind of way.
“Flat tire,” I call out, pointing to the offending wheel. “Must have run over a nail or something.” Or the wheels on this piece of trash car just decided they were ready to be retired. Or the universe decided I needed another problem on my plate.
Hey, congrats on your divorce! Here’s another bill.
“I’ll call my son. He’ll be right over with a jack.” Hamish already has his phone in his hand.
“That’s okay, Hamish, I have insurance. I can call them and get a tow truck, or something.”
Hamish just waves me away and speaks into his phone. “Son. Pretty lady here with a flat tire. Mm-hmm. At the Grove. Good.” He hangs up and looks at me. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Really, that’s not necessary, Hamish, I—”
“We’ll change your tire in no time. You got a spare?”
“Um…” I bite my lip and glance at the trunk. “Maybe?”
Hamish harrumphs. “Firstly we need to get you a spare, then maybe a more reliable car in general. Then we need to give you lessons on how to play pool.”
A surprised laugh falls from my lips. “I wasn’t that bad!”
He just levels me with a stare, which makes me laugh harder.
“I wasn’t! I was keeping up with you. I nearly won that third game.”
“Doll, I was lettin’ you win that one. Then you went ahead and blew it anyway by potting the black.” He hooks his thumbs into his jeans and jerks his chin to the trunk. “Unlock that, will you?”
I click it open as Hamish leans over it, pulling on a little tag I’d never even noticed at the bottom of the trunk. We both peer down at an empty space where a spare tire should be. I bite my lip. Hamish huffs.
“I should just call a tow truck, Hamish, really.”
This time, Hamish just completely ignores me and glances at the road, presumably the direction from which his son will be arriving.
Sighing, I pull out my phone and call my mother. “Yeah, Mom? My car has a flat.”
“Oh no! How did that happen?” A cute little meow sounds over the phone, and I wonder if she, too, is in love with Mr. Fuzzles and just used my children to convince me to keep him. I wouldn’t put it past her.
“I’m not sure how it happened, but I’ll be gone a little while before I can get it fixed. Can you ask Candice to take you to the vet?” The sound of an engine draws my attention to the road, where a massive pickup truck is turning into the lot. “I have to go.”
“All right, honey. Call me if you need anything. Who’s a cute little kitty—” She clicks off just as the truck pulls into a nearby parking space, and my stomach falls right down to splatter at my feet.
Because Hamish’s son, the man who’s come to save me from this flat tire?
Yeah. He’s sexy, smoldering Mac, and he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me right up.
CHAPTER 2
Trina
“We meet again.” Mac flashes me a million-dollar smile as he shuts the door with his hip, his eyes on me as he heads for the truck bed.
“Hi, Mac.” I mentally high-five myself for managing to speak. That’s how low the bar is right now.
My mouth waters as I watch him move. His dark-chocolate hair is still mussed with sleep, but in a sexy, grown-man sort of way. He still has that two-day stubble lining his jaw, dark brown interspersed with silver.
His eyes are pale brown, almost gold, and they sparkle at my words. “And you remembered my name too.” The corner of his lush lips tips up. “Here I was thinking you’d forgotten all about me.”
