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And fuck me, but it’s there.
Hers was on the right,I remind myself, as I register the decal is in the center, right above the license plate.
Besides, what would she be doing in Montana? She was from somewhere warm…
The sunset-style license plate with purple cactus on the left catches my eye.
No fucking way.
Arizona is somewhere warm.
I know, I know. I paid enough attention to her car that night to notice a bumper sticker but not her license plate. Hell, I’d half thought she was in a rental.
Yeah.
That’s what it was.
A rental.
And this is the same rental car.
Not the same woman.
“I know shit about cars,” one of my oldest friends in the world announces as he gets out of the cab, “but I think it’s the battery.”
Chuckling, “And how did you come to that determination?”
“Nellie, the car owner, Googled it.”
The name hits me square in the chest.
Not Ellie.
But close.
Really fucking close.
Could I have misheard her name that night?
Or could she have given me a fake name that was close enough to hers she wouldn’t be distracted?
I let Max unhook the car and walk to the front to greet the car owner.
The passenger door opens and I watch as a woman in sweats–and Max’s sweatshirt–steps out.
“I’m–” I start, holding my hand out to introduce myself, but she looks up and…
Holy fuck. Itisher.
Ellie.
No. Max saidNellie.
“Ben,” she says for me. The tone of my name on her lips tells me she’s just as shocked as I am.
“Ell–” I start, but she corrects me at the same time I correct myself. “Nellie.”
I have to know. “But you did give me the nameEllie, right?”
