Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“I’m sorry, I’m going through a lot,” I say, looking back to my car. “My tire popped and I don’t know how to fix it, and it has just been … the worst day.”

My observer is silent for a long moment, and when I finally glance over at him, I feel a second wave of embarrassment. Heat prickles at the little places behind my ears and at my wrists when I see the concern evident across his brow.

“I might not be able to fix your horrible day,” he says after a long pause, “but I can handle the tire for you. Get everything fixed up so you can head on your way.”

I blink a few times, feeling a little off-balance at his offer. I’ve spent the past decade in LA, where nobody slows down for a moment, and definitely not long enough to help someone in a shit situation. I almost forgot people do that kind of thing.

I nod, thankful that the emotions previously welling inside me seem to be dissipating.

“Yeah, that would be great, actually.”

“Don’t suppose you have a spare tire in there, do you?”

I wince, wishing I could say yes and preparing to tell him the story of when I sold it to a friend for fifty bucks during tough times. But before I can, he dips his head toward his truck.

“No worries. I have a spare in mine.”

And then he strides toward his truck and drops down to the ground, sliding underneath the bed and working at something for a minute or two before he tugs out a tire and shimmies back out, his shirt and jeans now covered in dust.

“I’ll have this fixed up for you in just a few minutes,” he tells me, looping one strong arm through the tire and hoisting it over to my car along with a couple of tools.

I watch for a few minutes as he works, twisting a wrench for a while on the lug nuts before lifting the car with the jack.

Now that my earlier overwhelm has eased, it’s hard not to appreciate just how handsome this Good Samaritan is. I’ve never been one to give elevator eyes before, but I can’t help it now. My gaze lingers on his broad shoulders and flexing forearm muscles as he works on removing my flat.

My mind briefly flitters over the idea of what else he’s capable of with those hands, but I clear my throat and scratch idly at my cheek, trying to shove that thought aside.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to do this,” I say, not wanting to hover awkwardly in silence.

He glances up at me and grins, his hazel eyes warm and kind, then looks back at the task at hand. “I’m happy to help. You feeling a little better now?”

My face flushes and I let out a laugh that surely betrays my embarrassment. “Yeah. Sorry about the tears. I was feeling overwhelmed.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Life is overwhelming sometimes.” He looks at me again and shrugs. “I had a good cry just last week.”

I purse my lips, trying to hide my smile. “Oh yeah? A good cry, huh?”

He nods. “And a nice long bubble bath.”

Shaking my head, I can’t help when my smile gets the best of me. “Sounds soothing.”

“You should really try it out. See if it helps.”

I tuck my hands into the pockets of my shorts and lean back against his truck. “I will definitely consider that. Thank you so much for the suggestion.”

He chuckles and continues working for a few more minutes before hopping up and tugging the tire off and setting it to the side.

“This isn’t a permanent solution,” he says, his voice slightly strained as he shoves the spare into place. “You’ll still need to get a regular tire put on here. But this should be good for tonight.”

I nod, watching as he puts the lug nuts back on and begins tightening them, and when he finally drops my car back to the ground and gives the trunk a tap, I say the first thing on my mind.

“Can I buy you a beer or something? As a thank-you? There’s a bar about a mile up the road.”

He looks off to the side, in the direction of town, and seems to consider it for a moment. But ultimately, he shakes his head.

“Not really a bar kinda guy.”

I lick my lips, my ego slightly bruised.