Chapter 2
TWO
HOT LETTER WRITER
Beth
The letter burned a hole in my pocket. Jammed into my hand by Mattie, my housemate, on my way out of the door, it had become weightier the longer my shift dragged on. Not least due to the extremely hot letter writer and my curiosity over what he had to say.
Who wrote letters anymore?
Particularly to a woman who’d almost run them over.
I’d had no chance to sneak a look. Despite it being a Monday, miserable Kendra, the supervisor at The Corkscrew, had filled my section with a large party of diners.
But my waitressing shift had ended ten minutes ago, and I was out of here.
I ought to be tired. My feet ached like a mother flipper, but my brain was wired, and I set my sights on the exit with two things on my mind.
Reading the letter, obviously, because the anticipation was killing me, and getting into my car and hitting the open road. The need to drive zinged in my veins.
The door slid open, and the cold spring night flooded in.
Almost free.
“Beth.” Kendra’s voice rang out through the empty restaurant. “A word, please.”
With her expression set somewhere between caustic and dour, Kendra strode over, barging through the cleared tables. In the corner of my vision, one of the barmen, a new guy, pulled an ‘ouch’ face in sympathy. I plastered on a smile and met the manager halfway.
“I need to change your shifts this week. Two people are out, so I need you tomorrow five until eleven-thirty, then the same on Wednesday but covering lunch as well. Then I’m cancelling your Friday and Saturday—”
Shit. That wouldn’t work. I had two jobs, study, and a full week lined up. “Wait. I can’t change my shifts, I’ve got other commitments.”
“What commitments?”
I toed the sticky floor. “Shifts at the multiplex. I’m there Tuesday—”
“Cancel.” She folded her arms and rested a hip on a blue-painted table. “We need you here.”
Aw, this was horrible. I hated saying no, mainly because I needed the money, and pissing off my employers was not good for my bank balance. “I really can’t. I already agreed to the shifts, and they’re set weekly. It’s too late to cancel.”
Kendra heaved a sigh like I’d personally destroyed her hopes and dreams. I braced myself for fireworks.
“We don’t appreciate the lack of loyalty. Your refusal has been noted,” she snipped, then spun on her heel and stomped back to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry?” I called at the logo of a corkscrew emblazoned across her retreating back, though I wasn’t truly. Work was work, and I kept my word. But the doors to the kitchen flapped closed, and she was gone.
“She’s a real ball-buster, huh?” the new bar guy said, and I twisted around to look at him. He stacked a glass on the high shelf then wiped his hands on his company shirt. “I’m looking for more hours. I’ll offer to cover. That’ll take the heat off you.”
He swept his gaze over me, something overeager in his attention, lingering on the undercut I had shaved on the left side of my head. I knew what was coming. He’d been hitting on women all night.
“Cool hair. Wait around. I’ll take you for a drink.”
Not tonight, sunshine. “Knock yourself out with the shifts, but sorry, no can do with the drink, I’ve got somewhere I need to be…” I paused to let him fill in the name blank.
His lips thinned. “Stan. I introduced myself at the beginning of my shift.”
Oh. “Stan. Right. See you later in the week.”
Then I was out the door and tripping my way down the rain-splattered road to where I’d parked the Audi.
Not my Audi, obviously. Like I could ever afford a luxury car.
Mattie was the owner. She hated driving, and her father had bought her the top-end model for her birthday.
As long as I chauffeured her around, she didn’t mind me taking it out for a night ride every now and again.
The cost of fuel was my one extravagance. I needed this freedom or I’d go insane.
The door made a neat clunk as I closed it, and I settled into the cosy interior. Then, with my fingers itching, I extracted the letter from my bag.
Beth, it said on the front in a neat scrawl.
I tore into the envelope, and my buzz of excitement grew as a folded white sheet fluttered onto my lap. My stomach flipped, and I began to read.
Beth,
You might not remember me…
Yeah, right. You didn’t see a man like him and forget in a hurry.
…but our friends are friends, and I wanted to ask a favour.
I was pretty sure our friends were more than that. Mattie had travelled all the way to Scotland just for the day to see the letter writer’s housemate, hence how she’d received the mail. If they weren’t knocking boots already, they soon would be. I read on, forcing myself to take it slow.
I’m buying a new car, and I recall your expertise in that area. Would you give me a call? I’d be grateful for your advice.
Yours, James Fitzroy
The window fogged from my breathing, and I punched the button for the heat.
It was a line, right? The car thing?
He barely knew me, so he couldn’t have any idea about my driving pedigree.
I snorted at my word choice. Pedigree. Cars were in my blood, but my family history was nothing but criminal.
Then again, what did I care about his motivation?
I’d thought about James more than once since the single time we’d met last month.
Not only due to how he looked, because hot damn, but because I’d scared the living crap out of the guy, and the guilt had eaten me up.
I didn’t know what made me do it, the stunt, but the moment I’d seen Mattie outside that hotel with two hot guys beside her, I’d decided to show off.
There was space. It was a quiet road. I’d thought I was safe.
Well, maybe thinking hadn’t been top of my agenda.
In a satisfying roar of engine meeting fuel, I’d executed the neatest trick to park the Audi, sliding it into the space next to the kerb. Mattie had barely blinked, used to my shit after living with me for a year, but James, he of the gorgeous face, had freaked.
Kind of killed the mood.
I’d found him and apologised, and he’d apologised in return—an educated accent coming from his lips with the hint of a Scottish brogue. So sexy. Then I did something weird, even by my standards.
I hugged him, right there in the hotel lobby.
Flung my arms around this perfect stranger, found myself all hot because he smelled good, and his big, hard body tensed under my touch.
I inhaled him, liked it far too much, then fled to the car.
I’d blame the adrenaline on the stunt, but it had barely got my blood up.
Nothing like hugging James had done.
I thought about it to death. His overreaction. The honesty in his apology. The way my stupid, impulsive behaviour hurt him. It gnawed at me.
Being a former foster kid, I knew trauma when I saw it, and whatever he had going on made him undeniably fascinating. I hadn’t forgotten him one bit.
I tapped the letter on the steering wheel and eyed the empty road, street lights creating shadows on the deserted city centre. Maybe he really did need car help. Whatever it was, having someone to talk to tonight wasn’t the worst idea. I needed a distraction.
I whipped out my phone, saving James’s number as a new contact. Then I typed a quick message, my fingers flying. I really needed to drive.
Hey, it’s Beth. Give me a call, and we’ll talk. I figure I owe you.
Then I dragged in a breath, threw the car into first, and sped out to find some peace.
Thank you for the reply. When can I call? James Fitzroy
His formal response came in just before I hit the on-ramp for the motorway. The M5 took me south on a long, straight path through dark countryside. Beautiful by day but empty at night. More than enough driving time to stop me from obsessing over my problems.
A smooth transition, and the car sang in blessed fifth gear, then I merged into the light traffic and let the Audi fly, weaving over to the fast lane and opening up the engine with a purr of absolute bliss. The car’s, not mine. Though soon, hopefully, I’d get my sense of escape.
Popping in my headphones, I dictated a text message to my phone.
Now’s good, I’m free.
My phone buzzed a few seconds later. Him, calling.
“Beth’s Auto Shop, how can I help?” I grinned at my own joke. Like any garage would employ me, a five-foot-nothing woman with no qualifications in—well, anything. Let alone the other black marks against my name.
There was a pause on the line, and I chuckled. “James, it’s Beth. I’m just messing around. How are you doing?”
The soft sound of his deep almost-laugh had me push my earbud in farther.
“I’m well, thank you.”
Then nothing. A fresh squall of rain from the grey-and-black sky hit the windscreen, and the wipers started automatically. “Um, so, your letter. What did you want to talk about?”
“I’m buying a new car. I wanted to ask you a question. But it’s late,” he said, stating the obvious, and I tried to picture him, wherever he was. I knew he lived with Callum, and Mattie had mentioned the guy owned a castle. Like that was a normal thing.
James was probably sprawled on his bed in a turret room in Scotland.
Long limbs on nice sheets.
Well, hello imagination.
“That’s true. But I’ll be up for a couple of hours at least. I only just finished work.” The road bowed right, and I inched the steering wheel around in a perfect arc, dead centre in my lane. This car had such nice handling.
“You’ve been working? But it’s nearly midnight.”
“I work most nights. And days for that matter. Or I study. I don’t sleep all that much.”
James made a tutting sound. “My request can wait until you’re rested.”
“No! Don’t go. This is the most interesting thing to happen to me in weeks.” It wasn’t a lie. All I ever did was work. “Talk. Cars are my thing. But be warned, once I start, it’ll be hard to shut me up.”
A moment of quiet, then he relented. “I’ve been driving an old Land Rover of Callum’s, but safety is my priority. When we met… Well, when it came to buying my own car, I thought of you.”
Up ahead, orange lights flashed, reflecting onto the wet road. An emergency sign? I squinted at it. “Hang on a sec. My lane is closing. I need to pay attention to the signs.”
I signalled left and slid the Audi in behind a column of cars, filtering into one long queue. Fuck. This wasn’t in the plan. I needed speed and the open road. My knee jiggled. I slowed to a crawl.
“You’re driving?” James’s voice sounded strained.
“It helps when my mind is busy,” I replied, distracted by the growing traffic.
Behind, someone blared a horn.
“You…? I can’t…” The line went dead.
He hung up on me?
A quick glance at my phone confirmed it. Call ended. Well, fuck.
Twenty minutes later, I’d inched into the motorway services.
A check on a traffic update website told me the motorway was closed and my night of easy driving dissolved.
With my hyperactive mind mulling over roadworks, my manager’s expression as she’d left, and people hanging up on me, I dialled James back.
He didn’t answer.
I hard-tapped out a text message.
I’ve stopped driving. It’s safe.
Nothing.
I sat in the dark warmth of the car, stewing.
It wasn’t his fault my night was messed up.
That my teetering pile of worries, about the money I needed for my foster mother, about the future I wanted but was always out of reach, kept my mind from settling.
But James had done something he hadn’t intended.
He’d given me a fun idea to dwell on when the rest of my time was spent on problems. Then he’d hung up on me and taken it away.
In a fit of petulance, I muttered “Jerk” to his letter, rolled my shoulders, and set tracks for home.