Page 25 of From Now On

Hunter doesn’t reply right away. He’s scrolling on his phone screen, this sexy crease of concentration between his eyes.

Absurdly, I’m wondering what it would take to get another grin from him. We didn’t talk much before I fell asleep, and, ridiculously, I’m more focused on what I should say than why we’re motionless.

Hunter lowers his phone, reaches toward the dashboard, and turns the flashers on. “Your phone went off a few times. I’ll be right back.”

He opens his door and climbs out without offering any more of an explanation.

Maybe he has to pee?That would explain the unplanned stop and sudden urgency.

I yawn, then grab my phone from the cupholder and scroll through the notifications. A missed call from my mom, even though I talked to her last night. A few messages from Harlow, asking for progress updates on the drive. And two texts from Ben.

BEN:Since you won’t be around, I’m going home for break. Call me if you want to talk.

Ten minutes later, he added:

BEN:Please call me, Eve. Anytime.

I blow out a long breath, zip up my coat, and then climb out of the SUV. I’ll stay close to the car to give Hunter some privacy, but I might as well stretch my legs a little while we’re stopped.

Hunter didn’t stray far. He’s crouched by the rear tire, frowning at it. I walk closer, keeping my gaze fixed on the Holt Hockey bumper sticker stuck to the fender, instead of ogling his ass again, as I ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah. It’s flat.”

“Shit,” I say.

We’re a few hours into a nine-hour drive. The navigational system already had our ETA projected as 11:45. A delay isn’t ideal, to say the least.

He glances up, the right corner of his mouth kicking up a half inch. Not another grin, but it still makes me feel unsteady. “Yeah. Shit.”

I shove my chilly fingers into the pockets of my coat, wiggling them in an attempt to encourage circulation. “Should I call a tow truck?”

“Nah, I can change it myself. There’s a spare.” Hunter’s already shoving up his sleeves and rounding the trunk, the thud of his Timberlands loud against the asphalt.

I move back a couple of steps so he can lift the tailgate. I like to think of myself as capable and competent, but I have nothing to contribute to this situation unless he wants a sketch to remember it by.

I’ve never gotten a flat tire, let alone changed one myself. So I stand awkwardly as Hunter sticks something behind the other rear tire. He shifts our bags to the side and pulls the floor of his trunk up, lifting a heavy-looking tire out of the hidden compartment like it weighs nothing, followed by a diamond-shaped jack.

He pulls a wrench out of the jack and crouches back down beside the tire.

His efficiency is impressive. Hunter strikes me as one of those people who always knows what to do in any given situation, but witnessing it firsthand is different.

I take a seat on the hard ground, pulling my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and resting my chin atop my knees.

Hunter glances at me, his hands still busy working at whatever’s holding the tire in place. “You don’t need to stay out here, Eve. Get back in the car.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, even though my butt is already numb. Sitting on cold asphalt is as uncomfortable as it sounds.

The sun never emerged in Somerville today. It doesn’t seem to have shined much in Middle of Nowhere, Oregon, either, because the ground feels the same temperature as a block of ice.

“It’s warmer in the car,” he tells me. “Safer too.”

Warmer, definitely.

Safer is debatable. This two-lane highway is quieter than the road that runs through the sleepy neighborhood Harlow and I live in. Not a single car has passed by since we stopped.

Plus, I’ve never sat on the side of a road with a handsome stranger before, or helped him change a tire. Not that Hunter is a complete stranger or that I’m “helping” him per se, but it feels good to do something that could be considered uncharacteristic. Maybe I’ll even add it to my fuck-it list, just so I can cross something else off.

“I’m good,” I respond. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

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