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Ryan shakes his head.. “It's just a little water.” He holds out his hand to me. “Let’s get you into my truck while I hook your car up.” Ryan yanks back his hand before I can grab it, and holds up a finger. "Hold on a sec."
He jogs to his truck through the rain, pulls out an umbrella, and opens it before returning to me and offering me his hand again. He lifts the umbrella over my head and covers the opening to my door. "Don't want to ruin your dress."
I grab my purse and take his hand, feeling the same twinge I used to feel when we were together in high school. His hand is still strong and warm, despite the cool water from the torrential downpour. And he's gentle when he lifts me out of my seat. Resting his hand on the base of my back, he nudges me toward his tow truck. Despite the layers of clothing between his hand and my back, I'm still uncomfortably aware of him. How warm he is despite the cold water pelting at us from the side.
I glance up at him to thank him for his help, but my words freeze in my throat. Wow. It has been a long time. The boyish features of my high school crush are gone, replaced by strong arms, broad shoulders, and weary eyes.
We hurry to the tow truck, and he opens the passenger door for me, helping to boost me up into the seat before closing the door with a nod and getting back to the work of attaching my sedan to his truck.
I glance around the cab of the truck. It's not what I'd expected the inside of a tow truck to look like. I've always imagined one to be greasy, grimy, and filled with fast-food wrappers, or something. This is clean, recently vacuumed, and smells of vanilla. I glance up at his rearview mirror and smile at the yellow tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the neck of the mirror. The same stupid air freshener he used to have in his Mustang when we were in high school.
I gaze out the side-view mirror at Ryan. He's quick and efficient, virtually ignoring the rain as he hooks my car up to his truck. A couple of times he's forced to lie on the ground to hook the cables to the axle of my car. When he stands, he seems unphased. In a few short minutes, he returns to the tow truck and opens the driver’s side door.
His wet, muddy clothes are stuck to his body. Being a tow truck driver has obviously been good to him, despite looking like he just climbed out of a mud puddle.
I glance down and smooth the lace of my skirt. Unlike me. Being a caretaker to my dying father, made me softer, more haggard, and as fragile as a potato chip.
Ryan grabs a towel from behind the driver's seat and wipes the worst of the mess off his clothes before hopping into the cab of the truck. I wince, realizing he’s wet, cold, and muddy because of me and my stupid car.
He hasn't changed much from the boy I'd known in high school nearly fifteen years ago. He still has those slate-blue eyes, one of them a little lazy, which adds to his boyish charm. His hair is cut short, and he still has the body of a high school football star. Wow. Isn't a guy supposed to go a little soft when he gets older? Because I think this one has gotten better with time.
We lock eyes, and he smiles. “Been a long time, hasn't it?”
“Yeah, it has,” I say with a chuckle.
His grin fades and rubs his neck before turning the ignition and letting his truck rumble to life. He clears his throat and motions to my car. “Where to?”
I furrow my brows and any warmth I feel from seeing a familiar face is doused like he threw me back into the storm. “Um, I'm not sure. Do you know any good mechanics?”
He smiles again, flashing the dimple on his cheek I'd forgotten he had. “I think I might know of someone who can take a look.”
Chapter 2
Pulling A Few Strings
Ryan
Babsreachesoverandsqueezes my forearm, tears making her blue eyes shine. “Oh thank you! I'm just visiting, so I don't know who to call.”
My brows shoot up, and my stomach drops. “Visiting? Where did you end up?”
She swipes a hand across her face, shoving a lock of her brown hair out of her eyes. “Sammamish. It’s near Seattle. My dad is—my dadwasan employee for Microsoft.”
Guilt the size of a car’s engine makes my stomach drop further. My eyes gravitate toward the grave site, then back to her. “Was that—did you—?” Holy crap. I was about to hit on someone minutes after she buried her dad. I’m the world’s worst person. Ever.
Babs nods and pulls in a deep breath. “Yeah. Cancer.”
“I'm so sorry for your loss.” It’s the truth. I may be the world’s worst person. But I’d never wish death on anyone.
She looks down. Her brown hair falls, blocking her face from view. Then she lifts a shoulder. “There comes a point where you begin praying for them to die so they won't have to be in any more pain.” She looks out her window and sighs. “The only nice thing about cancer is that it allowed him to get his affairs in order, to say what he needed to say to whomever he needed to say it to.”
I nod, as if I have any idea what she’s talking about. “I like your perspective. But still. It's gotta be rough.”
“Yeah. It is. In retrospect, I think cancer is better than a car accident where everything is completely unexpected. Words are left unsaid, and lives are left in turmoil. At least this way, we could prepare and make amends.”
Babs stares down at her hands, clasped in her lap. She says nothing. She’s probably lost in thought, or overwhelmed by how much today’s sucked. If I were drinking, I’d probably be looking at the bottom of a bottle and reaching for another on a day like this. Good thing I’m not drinking anymore.
While she's looking away, I note all the little changes in her since high school. Her hair is still long, brown, and wavy, but now there are golden highlights through the strands. She's not as gangly as she used to be either. Now there are the soft curves that come with becoming an adult instead of a child. Despite the same high cheekbones, full lips, and long lashes, her face seems to have taken on a weariness that comes with hardship and sadness.
