Page 94 of Back to Willow

What the...

After the fifth try, I let my forehead fall onto the wheel in frustration.

Like, really? From all the days this freaking car could break down, it had to be today? When I am the most exhausted?

It’s late and dark so trying to look under the hood is out of the question. Not that I would know what to look for anyway. A cab it is. There is no way I’ll stay here for another hour just to wait for the Insurance’s Assistance.

Just my luck.

Knock-knock.

The sound of someone knocking on the side window catches my attention. Dark eyes on a hard-featured face stare back at me.

Manually rolling the window down, I greet him, “Hey, Professor Adell.”

His expression hardens for a second but then relaxes. It’s probably because I keep addressing him by his surname, but I mean, habits can be hard to change.

“Hey, I was just leaving and noticed your car didn’t start. Do you know what’s wrong?”

I exhale, “I-I don’t know what happened. It’s not working.”

“Can you try it once more? Maybe by the sound, I can understand what it is?”

When I nod, he distances himself from the window and keeps a focused expression as I try to start the car again. Unsuccessfully.

He hums quizzically before motioning for me to do it again. I do so, but again, no luck. When he comes back, he perches himself at my window and looks behind the wheel where all the sticks for the lights and such are.

Oh.Oh!

Looking at him with widened and panicked eyes, Arthur twists one of the sticks, turning off the light I forgot about this morning.

With a chuckle, he says, “My guess is your battery died since you left the lights on.”

Like Liam likes to say:no shit, Sherlock.

But I pride myself in avoiding curse words—most of the time.

“Ah, damn. This has never happened to me,” I mumble, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t have any cables to boost my battery. Would you have them, by any chance?”

“No, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I wave it off. “I’ll scout the battery prices tomorrow. Thank you, Profe—”

“Arthur,” he grits out, cutting me off.

“Thank you, Arthur.” I give him a small appreciative smile.

“How are you going to get home, then?”

“I-I’m probably calling a cab.”

He frowns at my words and seems to ponder something before offering, “I could give you a ride.”

Oh.

“Oh, no. I don’t want to force you out of your way. You must be tired.”

“And you aren’t? You’re probably dying to get home as fast as I am.” His eyes crinkle with little lines as he smiles softly. “Let’s go.”

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