Page 17 of Undone, Love Times Three

“Yes, all done.”

He sets his palm on my lower back and guides me towards the house. I give Ursula a wave, she eyes his hand and gives him a longing look. As we step into the kitchen, I hear a woman talking about how she’d like to take a delivery from him any day of the week.

I turn to her, about to demand she apologize for speaking to him like that but Ryan just guides me away, with a small shake of his head. He holds my door open and waits till I’m inside, then shuts the door, hurrying around to his side.

His eyes stay on me a moment, but I keep looking through the windshield. Ryan turns on the truck and backs out of the drive.

After a short while, I side-eye him. “Does that happen often?”

“What?”

“Women saying things like that.”

Ryan ducks his head. He has one hand on the wheel, the other is resting on his thick, muscled thigh. Oh God, stop ogling him. Now you’re doing it too.

“I was more irritated at that woman’s insinuation you aren’t professional because you were a little late.”

“It’s understandable.”

“No it’s not. No one should be spoken down to like that.”

“It doesn’t happen that often,” I admit. “Most of my clients are lovely. They were stressed about getting everything ready on time.”

“That’s no excuse for rudeness.” He looks at me a little longer then focuses on the road. “Anyway, do you have a garage preference?”

“A what?”

“For your tire?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.”

“I know a place, they’ll give you a good price.”

That’s another thing. How much is it going to cost to get a new tire and have it fitted? I keep that thought to myself. My finances aren’t that worrying, but I haven’t budgeted for unexpected tire replacements.

Ryan pulls up at a garage and is greeted by the three men like they’re old friends. I stand beside him and answer questions about the make and model of the car and one man goes to get the correct sized tire for us.

Ryan hangs around while I pay, what I suspect is a heavily discounted price given how Ryan had a quiet word with the man beforehand. When I come back out onto the shop floor, Ryan is busy loading the tire into his truck.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you back to the car and changing the tire,” he says.

“You don’t have to do that. I was going to get the tow truck to bring me here.”

“The tow trucks that are still too busy to help,” he slams the trunk door and turns to face me.

“I can wait, now that the flowers are delivered.”

“Sylvie, I’m taking you back to your car, and either I can change the tire, or you can, I’m not gonna argue about that,” he smirks. “But I’m not leaving you here waiting for a tow truck. Let’s go, daylights fading.”

Eight

Ryan

By the time we get back to Sylvie’s car, it’s nearing rush hour. It’s not cold but her little white capped sleeve button up blouse and Capri pants can’t be keeping her warm. She has periodically rubbed at her arms, but not complained once.

I don’t want to step on her toes, assuming she can’t change the tire, but she doesn’t disagree when I offer. I’ve been changing tires since I was a kid. I’ve always been a hands-on kind of guy.

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