Page 12 of Ice Mechanic

“What?” I huff, letting my impatience seep in.

I never should have listened to Bobby when he called for another favor. ‘Can you please help us out, April. My friend is new to the team and new to town. He doesn’t know anyone yet and now his car’s broken down. If anyone can get it running again it’s you.’

I really need to stop letting Bobby pull on my heartstrings.

“I just…” He slips a hand into his pocket, “have you worked on a car like this before?”

“Seriously?”

“I just got it a week ago and it’s really expensive…”

I’m not one to jump on soapboxes. I find people ten times more complex than cars and I’d rather stick to four wheels and an engine over having an argument about feminism any day.

However…

And that’s a big however…

He’s a real-life Prince Eric, so it’s disappointing that he had to open his mouth and ruin the kind, princely-pro-women-in-STEM fantasy I didn’t even know I had about Ariel’s human husband.

Throwing my hands up, I step back. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. Why don’t you call the Kinseys? They have a mechanic shop and a twenty-four-hour tow service…”

“No, no. Wait. Here.” He hands over the keys with his eyes squeezed shut like he’s giving away the code to the family vault.

I let out a frustrated breath. Everything in me wants to storm away, but it’s not every day I getthisclose to the engine of a 1966 Miura. Ihaveto take a peek. I justhaveto.

It’s difficult to stay professional and I’d say I’m about thirty percent fan-girl by the time I walk over and uncover the mid-engine. An absolutelyglorioussystem unravels before me and my muscles tense in appreciation.

“What’s that?” Prince Eric walks beside me and then freezes. His eyes skitter to me and back to the car. “Is that the engine?”

I nod, too dazzled to speak.

“Then… what’s that.” He points to the front hood that he’d been leaning against when I first saw him outside.

“They call it a frunk,” I explain. “It’s the trunk, but it’s at the front.”

“That explains why I didn’t see an engine. I thought I’d been sabotaged.”

I can’t help it. I giggle. “You thought someone carried away an entireengine?”

“Go ahead. Laugh at me. I deserve it.” His lips tremble as if he’s seeing the humor in it too. “I was stupid. And not only about the frunk.” He turns fully to me. “I’m sorry. About earlier. I’ve never met a female mechanic.”

I shrug. In the presence of a ’66 Miura, it’s hard to stay angry. “At this point, I’m used to it.”

“I feel like an idiot,” he says with a sheepish grin. There’s something much more genuine about his smile this time. The way it lights up his eyes. The way it forms laugh lines around his mouth.

This is a completely different guy than the one asking me to take him on a tour of the town. And somehow, I like this version more.

“I’ve met worse.” I shine my flashlight on the engine. “Actually, earlier, there was this guy in the parking lot whose car broke down and he rejected my help. Now that guy… that guy was a tool.”

He smothers his smile, trying to look contrite, but it only makes him look mischievous.

“Guilty.” He holds up both hands.

I return the smile—it’s really hard not to—and turn my attention back to diagnosing the problem.

A car says a lot about a man, so the fact that he owns a Lamborghini definitely hints at deep pockets. I’m talkingJourney To The Center of the Earthdeep. However, the fact that it’s a 1966 Miura tells me that his kind of rich is also old and cultured. He has no need for the latest, flashiest vehicle to prove his net worth.

I wonder how much a hockey player makes. Whatever it is, I bet it’s enough to cover my entire business loan and mortgage for the garage.

---