Page 29 of When Forever Falls Apart

“Live a little?” I echo, shaking my head incredulously. “I live just fine, thank you, without hopping on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle.”

He lifts one of the helmets from the handlebars and begins fiddling with the buckle. “First, I’m not a stranger. I’m your best friend’s older brother. Second, the car yards are across town. It’ll take you over an hour to walk there, or even longer if you wait for a bus.”

Ugh. He has a point, and the thought of getting back on the bus makes me shudder. Aside from the awful smell, a man sat beside me and started talking to me about his birds. It was the longest hour of my life.

“Do you promise to go slow?” I relent, crossing my arms in front of me.

“Sure.” He smirks, those blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “We’ll go as slow as you want.”

I take the helmet from him, carefully letting down my bun to secure it properly. Once it’s on, he steps in closer to adjust the strap, and I unintentionally find myself captivated by the color of his eyes, losing track of everything around me until he murmurs, “You’re safe.”

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding rushes out, accompanied by a sudden smile that catches me off guard. “Let’s do this,” I say finally, a mix of excitement and trepidation surging through me. I’ve never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before.

A moped, yes, but I don’t think it’s the same.

Climbing onto his bike, I settle into the seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, but the only way to steady my nerves is to wrap my arms around his waist and hold on for dear life. He glances back at me, tilting his head ever so slightly as he gestures for me to hold on tight. I secure my arms around him, heart racing.

With a roar, he starts the engine, and we pull onto the road. True to his word, he doesn’t speed, making the ride exhilarating yet manageable. The wind whips through my hair, and despite thinking I would hate it, I enjoy the sense of freedom from being on the open road with the wind blowing against my skin.

Before long, we arrive at the first car yard, a sprawling lot teeming with shiny vehicles, and within moments, a salesman approaches us like a hawk eyeing its prey. I take a cursory glance around, but nothing really catches my interest. As Elliot engages the eager salesman, I see he’s clearly good at haggling, but soon he notices my lack of enthusiasm.

“Could you give us a moment, Harry?” Elliot requests politely, stepping away from the salesman, who nods, retreating to examine new arrivals in the parking lot.

Turning to me, Elliot tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”

I shrug, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Nothing here speaks to me. I need to feel it, you know? Like when you’re dating someone and there’s that spark, or there isn’t. None of these cars spark anything for me.”

Elliot presses his lips together, half-amused. “It’s a car. A hunk of metal.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“You want me to help you find a spark?” he questions, eyebrows raised skeptically.

“Yes,” I reply with a hint of irritation in my tone. The heat is doing nothing to help out here, and I’m desperate for adrink of water. “Sabrina was my car, and what we had was something special.”

“You’re a lot of work, you know that?” he huffs, then motions for me to follow him. “Let’s find your damn spark.”

We venture deeper into the yard together, scanning rows of cars for my connection. Heat kisses our skin as our eyes scan the vehicles.

Suddenly, Elliot’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s pointing enthusiastically at a vibrant green Mini Cooper being carefully unloaded from the delivery truck. “She’s a real headturner. A solid brand, aesthetically pleasing, and I think she really suits your vibe.”

I chuckle softly. “My vibe?”

“Yes, isn’t that your lingo?” he teases with a grin.

As I step closer to the car, I watch the driver navigate the 18-wheeler’s ramp, carefully guiding the small vehicle down until it finally settles onto the gravel surface of the lot.

“She is adorable, just like me, right?” I say, the words slipping out before I can think twice.

Elliot flashes a playful grin. “Sure, if that’ll ignite the spark you’re looking for.”

I tease him with a lighthearted slap to his arm. “But in all seriousness, I’m obsessed. The British racing green is such a classic. I’ve always wanted this color. And the racing stripe? Who even am I? I’ll tell you who: some famous racing car driver I couldn’t name because I don’t watch Formula One or whatever it’s called.”

Harry makes his way over, enthusiastically spouting off facts about the Mini. Elliot performs a quick inspection, asking a slew of thorough questions before requesting a detailed vehicle history report. I’m grateful Elliot asked the questions because I have no clue what an air filter is. Once he seems satisfied with every aspect, he gives the nod of approval.

“All clear,” he declares with a satisfied smile.

“She’s absolutely perfect,” I whisper, gliding my fingers over the smooth, polished surface of the car. This isn’t just a car to get me to places—it symbolizes a fresh start, a new chapter in my life. “I’ll take her.”