Chapter 7
Gavin
I put my truck in park and glance in the rearview mirror at the SUV.
I don’t even have to get out to know that they are stuck, which surprises me.
A car like that should be fine on this road, especially if the driver knows what they’re doing.
Many people travel to Colorado to ski every year.
Someone who lives in San Diego might not know how to manage a vehicle in a snow squall at ten thousand feet and climbing.
I trek over to the car, squinting my eyes against the sleet, and tug my flannel tighter over my chest. It’s really coming down right now. I am used to this kind of weather, but I understand that not everyone is.
The window rolls down, and immediately the snow blows into the car, covering her face enough that for a moment, she is hard to see. But not enough that I don’t instantly recognize her.
No shit. It’s Sweater Dress Charlotte.
I bite back a smile.
“Thank you for stopping,” she says as she cleans the sleet off her glasses. At least this time she’s wearing something from this decade. The sweater dress was very flattering and memorable. “This weather is wild.”
“Yes, it is,” I say with a smile, stepping close enough to the window that I block the storm from continuing to smack her in the face. “Wild day really…”
“Totally,” she smiles, and then her eyes lock on mine, and the look on her face belongs in a photo album. Everything about her expression screams what I am already thinking. What are the odds?
“Where you headed?” I ask her.
“You know, on second thought, I think we are okay,” she says. “We have a tow truck coming.”
“A tow truck?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“No, we don’t,” the girl in the passenger seat, who is unsurprisingly her friend from the cantina, says as she leans over. “Sorry. Hi. We don’t have a tow truck coming. And if you have a clean criminal record and honorable intentions, we could really use some help.”
“I’m an okay guy,” I say, holding up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“Awe, you were a boy scout?” the girl asks with a smile, nudging Charlotte. “Char, he was a Boy Scout.”
“I actually wasn’t. But I do know a thing or two about getting your car out. I just need to know where you’re headed,” I say.
Charlotte is quiet, staring at me, and yet refusing to make eye contact all at the same time.
When she doesn’t answer, her friend does. “The ski resort. In Pineville. Any chance that’s not too far out of your way?” she asks.
“Actually, I’m headed there myself. I can give you a lift,” I say with a smirk.
“Great!” the friend beams. Meanwhile, Charlotte leans back into her seat as if she is trying to evaporate into the winter air.
“Perfect,” she grumbles, and again, I have to bite back a smile.