Chapter 35 Piper
Three days after the charity breakfast, my van died.
The first sign something was wrong was the grinding noise. The second was that sharp and acrid smell, like burning rubber mixed with desperation.
I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and killed the engine, hands tight on the wheel. The van shuddered once, then went silent in that ominous way that meant I was about to spend money I didn't have.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I checked my phone. 6:47 PM. Maya was in San Francisco for the weekend visiting her college roommate, Dad was on shift at the hospital until midnight, and Mom was at her book club, an hour away even without traffic.
The bakery's regular mechanic closed at six.
I pulled up AAA's number, then hesitated. Their wait times on Friday nights were legendary. I'd be sitting here for hours.
My thumb hovered over my contacts. There was one person I could call. One person who'd drop everything, who knew cars, who'd helped me load this exact van just three weeks ago.
No, Piper, I thought. Absolutely not.
I opened the AAA app instead, narrowed my eyes at the screen.
Estimated wait time: 2-3 hours.
I dropped my head against the steering wheel.
A knock on the window made me jump.
I looked up and there he was, standing in the November cold without a jacket, hands shoved in his pockets, that concerned furrow between his eyebrows that I used to smooth away with my thumb.
"Car trouble?" Liam asked through the glass.
Of course.
Of course it was him.
I rolled down the window halfway. Cold air rushed in, slicing through the warmth of the car.
"It's fine," I said. "I've got it handled."
He glanced at the hood, then back at me. "What happened?"
"Grinding noise. Burning smell. Then it just... stopped."
"Alternator, maybe. Or the belt." He shifted his weight. "You call someone?"
"AAA. Two to three hour wait."
Something flickered across his face: that problem-solving look he always got when something needed fixing. "Pop the hood. Let me take a look."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." He was already walking toward the front of the van.
I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. I could tell him to leave, couldn’t I? could sit here alone in the cold for two hours waiting for a tow truck. Could maintain the careful distance we'd established.
Or, maybe… I could accept help from someone who actually knew what he was doing.
I pulled the hood release.
Liam disappeared behind the raised metal, and I heard the clank of him propping it up. I climbed out, wrapping my arms around myself against the November wind. The parking lot was mostly empty, only a few scattered cars around, and the fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
"Try starting it," he called.
I got back in, turned the key. The engine made a sad whining sound, then nothing.
"Okay, kill it."
I did as told and silence settled over the parking lot, broken only by the distant hum of traffic on the highway.
He appeared at my window again, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Definitely the alternator. You're not driving this anywhere tonight."
"Great." I let my head fall back against the seat. "So I wait for the tow truck."
"Yeah. Did you check with AAA?"
"Sure did," I replied. “Two to three hours wait.”
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself. Without the engine running, the temperature was already dropping. My breath fogged in the air.
"You're freezing," he said.
"I'm fine."
"Piper." He gestured toward the far end of the parking lot. "My truck's got heat. You can wait there instead of turning into a popsicle."
I hesitated. Sitting in his truck felt... different. Definitely more intimate than standing outside talking. More enclosed.
"I'll leave the keys with you," he added. "You can lock the doors, blast the heat, whatever. I'll wait out here if you want."
That was the thing that got me. Not the offer of warmth, but the way he framed it. He was giving me the option, not assuming things.
Another gust of wind cut through my cardigan and made the decision for me.
"Okay," I said. "But you're not standing out here in the cold for two hours. That's ridiculous."
Something flickered across his face. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
His truck was parked four rows over. We walked in silence, my arms wrapped around myself, him carrying his grocery bag. The parking lot lights hummed softly, casting everything in that sickly yellow glow that made the whole scene feel surreal.
He unlocked the passenger door first, then held it open while I climbed in. After rounding to the driver's side, he started the engine and immediately cranked the heat. Warm air blasted from the vents.
"Thank you," I said, holding my hands up to the vent.
"Yeah." He adjusted the temperature, then settled back in his seat, careful to keep space between us. The center console felt like the Grand Canyon.
We sat there with the engine running, the heat building. Neither of us knowing what to say.
"So," he said finally. "How's the bakery?"
"Good. Busy." I rubbed my hands together. "That Sweet Dreams place on Third is cutting into the morning crowd, but the catering's picking up. The charity breakfast helped. And thank God for that, because marketing definitely isn’t my thing."
"Good. That's good."
More silence. I stared out the windshield at the grocery store entrance, watching people drift in and out.
"Your shoulder?" I asked, because apparently we were doing small talk now.
"Better. Physical therapy's done. Still gets stiff when it rains, but…" He shrugged. "Could've been worse."
"Yeah."
The heat was finally reaching my fingers. I flexed them, watching condensation start to form on the windows.
"Remember that time your tire went flat on Route 9?" he asked. "You called me at two in the morning?"
I did remember. It happened during our third year of dating. I'd been driving back from Maya’s birthday party.
"You showed up in your pajamas," I said.
"You were sitting on the guardrail eating leftover cake."
"It was good cake. Lemon lavender. I wasn't going to waste it." I smiled despite myself. "You changed the tire in like ten minutes."
"Fastest tire change of my life. You were stress-eating cake and I was worried you'd make yourself sick."
"I had one slice."
"You had three."
"They were small slices."
He laughed, the sound quiet and surprised, like he'd forgotten he was allowed to. Hearing it did something to my chest. Something I didn't want to examine too closely.
When the laughter faded, we sat in the new silence, the easy moment crystallizing into something heavier.
"I missed this," he said quietly. Then, as if remembering himself: "Sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"It's okay." And weirdly, it was. "I missed it too. Sometimes."
He looked at me then.
"I'm not trying to—" He stopped, hesitated. "I know where we are. I'm not asking for anything."
"I know."
"I just want you to know that I—" He gripped the steering wheel. "I'm glad you're in my life. Even like this. Even just... sitting in a parking lot waiting for a tow truck."
My throat felt tight. "Liam—"
"You don't have to say anything." He released the steering wheel, settled back. "I just wanted you to know."
I should change the subject. Should pull back and rebuild the careful distance we'd established.
"I think about calling you sometimes," I heard myself say.
He went very still.
"Something funny happens, or I see something that reminds me of you, and I'll pull up your contact. Just sit there staring at it." I picked at a thread on my cardigan. "I never actually call."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know what we are. Because I'm scared. Because…” I stopped. This was too much honesty. And far too fast.
But he just nodded, like he understood. Like he'd been sitting with his phone doing the exact same thing.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "you can call. Anytime. Even if it's just to tell me about something funny. Or to complain about your van dying." A pause. "I'd like that."
Something fluttered inside in my chest. I couldn’t quite name it, but it was something… soft.
"Okay," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Maybe I will."
His smile was small and careful. Like he was afraid too much expression might shatter whatever this moment was.
My phone buzzed. The tow truck was fifteen minutes out.
Reality crept back in.
"That's the tow truck," I said, checking the message. “They’re early. Fifteen minutes out.”
"I'll wait with you. Make sure they show up."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." He said it gently. "But I want to."
The tow truck arrived. Liam helped coordinate everything—directions to the garage, paperwork, making sure my spare key was accounted for. Being useful without taking over.
When the van was loaded and pulling away, he turned to me.
"You need a ride home?"
I should say no and call an Uber. Should not get back in that truck where the windows fog up and we say too much.
"Yeah," I said. "That would be great."
The drive to my apartment took seven minutes. He pulled up to the curb and left the engine running.
I reached for the door handle, then stopped.
"Liam?"
"Yeah?"
I turned to look at him. His face in the dashboard lights. That same face I'd loved and left and couldn't seem to stop running into.
"I'm glad it was you," I said. “I mean, tonight. In the parking lot. I'm glad it was you."
Something bloomed in his expression. Surprise at first, then something warmer, more vulnerable.
"Me too," he said quietly.
I got out before I could say anything else. But at my door, I looked back.
He was still there, waiting. Making sure I got inside safe.
Some things, I realized, don't change.
Some things you don't want them to.