Love Under the Hood (Cupid’s Cove #1)

Chapter 1

February

There’s a hissing and sputtering sound, and then my window is filled with smoke.

“No, no, no, shit.” This can’t be happening. I don’t have time for my van to conk out on me.

I put my hazards on and pull off to the side of the road, taking a deep breath before I get out and do my best to assess the damage.

When I try to open the hood, it’s too hot for my bare fingers.

With a yelp, I pull my hand back, rubbing my fingertips on my shirt like it will help the pain.

Rounding the van to the passenger side, I’m extra grateful I keep stray baking mitts in there.

Sliding one on, I grip the hood and open it, trying to figure out the problem.

It looks… smokey. I don’t know shit about cars, but my best friend, Slater, does.

I pull out my phone, hoping and praying I have reception.

I sigh with relief when I see I do.

I click on Slater’s contact, and he answers on the third ring. “This is Slater.”

“I know it’s you, asshole, I’m the one who called you. What does it mean when a car is smoking?”

“Where is the smoke coming from? What color is it? Is it making any weird sounds?”

“Well, it’s coming from under the hood. The smoke is… smoke colored? I didn’t notice any weird noises.” If there were any, they were drowned out by my pop music.

Slater sighs. “You’re helpless, my guy. Is the smoke white, gray, or black?”

“White.”

“All right, that’s good. It’s probably just your radiator. Call a tow truck and get it to a shop. Better to be safe than drive with a damaged vehicle. We don’t want to lose Cupid before the big day.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need a ride.”

We hang up, and I look up mechanic shops in the area. Merv’s is the closest and has four and a half stars, so I click the phone icon to call them.

“Merv’s,” a gruff, weathered voice answers.

“Hi, my name is Saint Valentine, and I think there’s something wrong with my radiator. I was hoping to get a tow—”

“Where ya at?”

“Mile marker 743 on Highway 45. It’s a big white—”

“Patrick will be there in fifteen and bring ya to the shop. Mikey’ll getcha fixed up,” he interrupts again.

“Thank you—”

The line goes dead before I can finish my sentence. I blink at my phone.

What a way to run a business.

Twenty minutes later, a beat up looking tow truck pulls in front of me. A guy who doesn’t look older than twenty-one hops out, his shaggy black hair half in his eyes. His dark gray coveralls are covered in grease stains, and the red embroidered patch informs me his name is Patrick.

He tips his chin up at me. “You Saint Valentine?”

“Yes. Are you from Merv’s?”

“Sure am. Merv said you think something’s wrong with your radiator?”

“Yep. It started smoking. White smoke. No weird noises.”

Patrick nods, then starts hooking the van up to the tow hook. I stand there, debating if I should call Slater just to have something to do. I don’t like feeling useless, it makes my neck sweat, but I don’t want to get in the way of him doing his job.

When he gets my van all hooked up, he directs me to the passenger seat of his truck. “Mikey’ll get right on this. You broke down at a good time, the shop’s pretty slow right now.”

I want to protest it’s not a good time to be broken down. Not when I need to get back to Cupid’s Cove so I can be ready to walk in the Valentine’s Day parade. Not when I have two hundred sugar cookies to frost for the festivities tomorrow. Ruby can—

Oh, shit. Ruby!

She can handle the café by herself but not all the prep work that goes into it if she’s busy at the front.

I’ll call her when we get to the shop.

The shop is what I imagine most mechanic shops look like—a red brick building with three garage bays, cars parked in the cracking asphalt parking lot, and a worn and weathered sign boasting “Merv’s Auto” in fading orange paint.

While the outside has clearly seen better days, the inside is pristine.

Even with the faint smell of grease and oil lingering in the air, the lobby is clean.

There are vintage car posters on the wall and a few model cars on small shelves.

A row of cracked leather chairs and a basic coffee machine are in one corner and a neatly organized desk with a computer and phone in the other.

Patrick dropped me off in the front and told me to wait while he gets the van unhooked, so I sit in one of the chairs, wincing when the wood and leather groan under my weight. I’m a big guy, and with the way my luck is going today I wouldn't be surprised if the chair breaks.

When I’m pretty certain it won’t, I pull out my phone and call Ruby.

“Saint? Where are you? You were supposed to be back by now!”

“My van started smoking—”

“Oh my god! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Rubes, promise. It was white smoke, nothing to worry about.” Probably. “I’m at a shop right now getting it looked at.”

I hear her sigh of relief. “Well, hopefully they can fix it so you can make it back here. Loralee would riot if Cupid weren’t here for the festival. You’d have to hold a press conference and offer a public apology.”

I bite back a groan. Loralee Dobson is a thorn in my side, and her wrath is not something I want to incur. “I know, but I’m sure everything will be fine. We might need to enlist some help frosting cookies, though.”

“I’ll call Stell and Slater.”

“Slater can help transport, but don’t let him touch the cookies. He’ll ruin them.”

“But they’re already baked.”

“I know. You remember what happened with the cucumber salad.” I nearly gag at the memory.

I love Slater. He’s my best friend, the brother I never had, but he could burn water.

I’m not going to let my reputation hinge on his ability to frost a damn cookie, not when the Valentine’s Day Festival is so important.

Slater knows cars, I know how to bake. I feed him, he changes my oil.

A perfect friendship.

I can practically hear Ruby roll her eyes. “Fine. Let me know when you’re on your way back. Where are you, anyway?”

“Shop outside of Salem.”

“Right. You had to get your special fancy Dutch cocoa for your damn lava cakes.”

“Don’t forget about the gluten-free flour.”

“How could I forget?” I faintly hear the bell from the café, signaling a customer. “I gotta go, Saint. Keep me updated.”

I don’t get to respond before she hangs up.

I let out a long, deep breath. Everything is going to be fine.

I won’t have to look for a new van, I’ll make it back to Cupid’s Cove in time to get the cookies frosted, and I’ll have ample time to double-check my costume and make sure my arrow isn’t broken again.

I’ll still need to trim my beard and chest hair, but who needs sleep when tomorrow is the best day of the year?

I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day. My love for the holiday runs deeper than the candy hearts and corporate cards, though. I love love. I love that there’s a dedicated day for the type of romance I’ve only ever dreamed of.

I was destined to be a hopeless romantic when my mom showed me Xanadu when I was nine. That was the gateway to me devouring every romantic movie, TV show, and book I could get my grubby little hands on.

I started reading my mom’s bodice rippers and mass market paperbacks when I was a teenager—a dirty secret I’ll take to my grave—and haven’t stopped reading romance since. It’s my favorite genre.

Mom used to regale me with love stories of her past lovers. She tried to paint my dad in a good light by embellishing the romantic things he did, but as I got older I started to see the truth behind her rose colored glasses.

She never had a great love like what poems and sonnets depict.

Instead, she was tied in a loveless marriage to a man who would rather spend his Friday nights drinking than taking his wife out on a date.

Instead of letting my dad’s actions turn me off of love, it gave me hope.

Hope that someday I could have the kind of love my mom deserved.

I’m determined to never be like my father, and I won’t settle for anything less than a fairytale ending.

I have a gift. One I don’t know how to explain or rationalize.

It’s how I ended up as Cupid. People come from all over the country to celebrate Valentine’s Day in Cupid’s Cove and to be set up by Cupid.

I walk around and pair up single people looking for love.

I have the ability to just tell when two people are meant to be together.

Even two people who wouldn’t give each other a second glance.

In the four years I’ve been doing this, I’ve paired upwards of fifteen couples. I’ve been invited to eight weddings of people I’ve helped.

I love it.

I just wish it was my turn. I’m not just sitting around, waiting for someone to walk into my life. I’ve been dating, scrolling endlessly on the available apps. I have a two date minimum, hoping for that spark to ignite, but so far it hasn’t happened.

I have this idea in my head where I’ll know the minute I see her. Sparks will fly the second our eyes meet, time will stand still, and everything else will fade away. We’ll have the kind of connection people will write plays about in a century.

Someday.

A door in the back of the shop opens, and Patrick walks in and gives me a chin nod, motioning to the desk. I stand and meet him there.

“So it looks like your radiator hose clamp was loose. When that happens, the coolant can leak and vaporize, which is what you thought was smoke. Mikey’s just checking the hose to make sure it’s not broken, then you should be good to go.

If you’ll just fill out this paperwork with your information and sign to say we did the work, we’ll get you all squared away.

” He slides over a clipboard with some paperwork.

I take it and start filling out the little boxes. “What’s the cost of fixing it if it’s broken?”

“If the hose itself is damaged, it can run anywhere from $300-600, but Mikey didn’t think anything was wrong. Just covering our bases. If everything is fine, we’ll just charge you for the tow, which is fifty.”

I nod as I finish filling out the paper, signing my name on the bottom.

I’m sure replacing the hose would take a lot more time—time I don’t have—so I’m hoping it’s just loose.

I hand him the clipboard, and Patrick looks it over.

The phone rings, so he holds up a finger as he answers.

Wanting to give him privacy for the call, I head back to my seat.

As soon as my ass hits the cracked leather, the door to the shop opens, and I swear to Zeus or Jesus or Cupid himself the background noise of Patrick on the phone and soft music playing over the speakers changes to angels singing and the rest of the shop fades away until the only thing on my mind is the woman who just walked in.

Her cocoa colored hair is pulled back into two buns on top of her head, and her face is bare, a smattering of little cinnamon colored freckles dot her nose and cheeks.

There’s a smudge of grease or something on the apple of her round face, and my fingers twitch, itching to wipe it off.

Her rose colored lips are tipped in a small frown as she scrubs at her fingers with a blue cloth.

My eyes track the movement but snag on the way her coveralls hug the dips and curves of her body.

This is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s the one.

The thought, jarring and unexpected, settles deep in my bones, intertwining itself in my DNA. She’s who I’ve been waiting for my entire life. All this time she’s just been a quick drive over the mountain. How many times have I passed through this part of Salem, not knowing she was here all along?

I stand as she heads in my direction, and when she looks up at me, I swear a live wire passes between us. Her teal colored eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and I’m nearly bowled over by the urge to scoop her into my arms and kiss her.

Don’t fucking do that. Not now. Not yet.

I can’t tell if she feels this, too, but she has to clear her throat twice before she finally says, “Okay, Mr. Valentine, I’m guessing Patrick already gave you a rundown?”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth, so all I manage is an affirming nod.

“Great. I’m happy to report your radiator hose isn’t damaged, it just shook loose. I tightened it for you and cleaned around the connector, so you shouldn’t have any more issues. I’ll let Patrick ring you up for the tow. Here are your keys.”

I hold out my hand, and as she drops the keys, her fingertips brush my palm, and the spark I’ve been waiting for sizzles between us.

She has to feel it, too, because she snatches her hand away and rubs her palm on her coveralls. “Sorry, static.”

“No problem.” My voice comes out in a barely-there whisper. “Thank you.” My eyes fall to the embroidered patch on her coveralls, needing to know her name. “Mikey” is embroidered in the same red letters as Patrick’s.

This is Mikey?

Mikey.

A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

“You’re welcome. I’ll, uh, be in the shop if you have any other questions. Patrick should be off the phone soon.”

“Yeah. Thank you, again.”

With a nod, she turns on her heel and walks back through the door.

I stand there, staring at the gray door like if I concentrate hard enough, I can see right through it. Patrick knocks on the desk to grab my attention.

“Ready to get out of here?” he asks with a curious glint in his eye.

“Right. Yeah.” I hand over my card and pay in a daze. For all I know, he could have added a twenty dollar upcharge for staring at his coworker.

I would pay it happily.

I sign my receipt, and Patrick waves at me as I walk out the door.

I don’t see Mikey before I go, but that’s okay because there are two things I know for certain.

One, this isn’t the last time I’ll be seeing Mikey-hopefully-someday-Valentine.

And two?

She’s the one.