Page 105 of Flipping the Script

“Me, say something snarky?” I fake gasped. “Never.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

“Pretty sure it does.”

“Did you drain the carburetor before you shut it down for the season?” he asked, sitting back on his heels.

“I did.”

“Have you checked the fuel line recently?”

“Replaced it at the end of last season.”

“Have you used it since then?”

“No.”

He hummed thoughtfully.

“What?” I asked dejectedly.

“The only other things it could be are the spark plug or the engine coil. It’s possible there’s something wrong with the sensors, but who knows?”

“You think it’s the spark plug?”

“Not sure. Do you have a spare? I can replace it, and that might fix things.”

I shook my head, my heart sinking as the cold settled over me.

I’d been wet for hours, ever since I’d woken up from my impromptu nap, and was moving past grumpy and into irate.

“I’m calling it.” He stood and brushed off his hands. “This thing is dead in the water.”

“That’s it?” I asked incredulously, too cold to think clearly. “I thought you were a mechanic. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to be good at?”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” he snapped. “I can’t fix something when I have no tools, no power, and no replacement parts. What do you expect me to do? Wave my magic wand and make the problem go away?”

“Fuck!” I shouted, unable to stop my outburst as all the shame and tension from the past four hours hit at once. “Could today get any fucking worse?” I asked the ceiling, hoping for a little divine intervention. Or maybe for the roof to collapse and put me out of my misery.

“Probably. Come on.” He handed me back the flashlight. “Let’s get out of here and back into the house. At least it doesn’t smell like an old barn in there.”

We had to dart through the rain to get back to the cabin, and I was in an even worse mood by the time we were inside.

It wasn’t a humid night, so while the rain was warm, the air around us was cold. Especially inside since it had been closed up tight for over a week.

I put the flashlight on the floor, and the light angled up so it illuminated a small swath of the room around us.

Jesse looked down at his mud-soaked clothes. “Gross.” He made a face.

“Yeah. I’m beginning to think I’ll never be clean or warm again.” I dug through my pockets, putting my phone, keys, and wallet on the table next to the door.

“Wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t buttflopped into that puddle.” He put his personal effects next to mine.

“Buttflopped?” I peeled my sopping shirt off. “Is that the technical term for falling on my ass after slipping on mud?”

“What are you doing?”

“Getting out of these clothes.” I dropped the shirt onto the mat next to the door that was for shoes. “How else am I going to get clean or warm if I keep them on?”

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