Page 1 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
Chapter 1 - Morgan
The car makes a sound like something dying.
Not metaphorically. Actually dying. A grinding, shrieking wail that sends a flock of birds exploding from the trees lining Main Street. I'm gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles go white as I coast, because the gas pedal has stopped doing anything at all.
"No, no, no, please," I whisper, like begging has ever fixed a mechanical problem.
The car doesn't care. It shudders once more, lets out what I can only describe as a mechanical death rattle, and goes silent.
I sit there for a moment, hands still locked on the wheel, staring at the faded blue hood that's been my closest companion for six months. My home. My transportation. My entire life, packed into a 2008 Honda Civic that apparently has just given up.
"Okay," I say out loud, because talking to myself has become normal somewhere between Colorado and here, wherever here is. I glance out the window at the hand-painted sign I passed thirty seconds ago: *Welcome to Blackwater Falls*
I'd been planning to drive through. Maybe stop for gas and a bad cup of coffee. Keep moving, because that's what I do now. That's what we were supposed to do together.
The journal is on the passenger seat, the one Annie gave me two Christmases ago. *For our adventure,* she'd written on the inside cover, her handwriting looping and confident in a way mine never was.
I don't pick it up. If I pick it up, I'll cry, and I've done enough of that today already. Instead, I grab my phone and search for "mechanic near me." One result pops up: Casey's Automotive, 0.2 miles away.
"Well," I tell the empty car. "At least you died in a convenient location."
I gather my purse, double-check that my wallet is inside. It is, though the cash situation is getting dire, and step out into the afternoon heat. It's late September, but this town apparently didn't get the memo that fall is supposed to be cooling down.
The walk to Casey's Automotive takes about five minutes. It's a small building, white paint peeling slightly around the edges, with a garage bay open to reveal a pickup truck on a lift. The sign above the door is simple, professional: *Casey's Automotive. Honest Work, Fair Prices.*
I'm about to find out if that's true or just good marketing.
The bell above the door chimes when I push it open, and the first thing I see is a little girl.
She's sitting at the front desk, which is really just a battered wooden counter with a computer that looks older than she is, with a stack of coloring books and a box of crayons scattered around her. She has dark curly hair pulled into two lopsided pigtails, and when she looks up at me, her smile is missing a tooth.
"Hi!" she announces, like my arrival is the best thing that's happened all day. "Are you a princess?"
I blink. "What?"
"You have pretty hair," she says, pointing at my messy braid. "Like Rapunzel. Are you a princess?"
Before I can figure out how to answer that, a voice calls from the garage: "Riley, what did I say about bothering customers?"
"I'm not bothering! I'm asking!"
"Same thing," the voice says, and then a man walks through the doorway from the garage, and I forget how words work.
He's tall. That's the first thing. The second thing is that he's not wearing a shirt.
Just... not wearing one.
I'm staring at a chest that looks like it was carved out of marble, all defined muscle and smooth skin, with a light dusting of dark hair that trails down toward the waistband of his jeans. His arms are massive, biceps flexing as he wipes his hands on a rag that's already so covered in grease it can't possibly be doing any good.
His face is somehow both rugged and boyish: strong jaw, dark stubble, hair that's a little too long and falling into eyes that are startlingly blue. And when he sees me staring, he smiles.
It's not fair. Nothing about this is fair.
"Sorry about that," he says, and his voice is warm, amused. "Riley's convinced everyone who walks in here is either a princess or a superhero."
"Last week a mailman was Batman," Riley adds.
I manage to find my voice, though it comes out higher than normal. "That's... that's okay. I don't mind."
