Page 8 of Their Reluctant Catch

“You sure about that?” She arches an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m sitting, you were a bad decision or two away from it.”

I grit my teeth and push the blanket off my lap. “The stupid, piece-of-shit car broke down. Not exactly something I planned. The alternator belt snapped.” I automatically fall into mechanic mode. “Probably from the cold or wear and tear. I could’ve fixed it if I had a spare, but—” I gesture at my luggage in the corner of the room. “Guess I don’t usually carry one around for fun.”

Mel’s lips twitch, and her eyes sparkle. “You know your way around an engine.”

“I’m a mechanic.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “Luxury cars, mostly. Back in Miami.”

Mel lets out a whistle. “Miami. You’re a long way from home.”

“Yeah, taking a vacation.” The words slip out like I don’t have a care in the world, but they don’t sit that way in my chest. I keep my voice steady, but my spine’s gone stiff. I don’t owe her the truth. It doesn’t matter how kind her eyes are or how gentle her tone—Northwick Cove isn’t my home, and Mel sure as hell isn’t family. So, I fall back on the version that’s safe, the one that doesn’t come with bullet holes and panic attacks. Just a girl on a break, soaking up some small-town peace and quiet.

“All right.” She stands, brushing her hands on her jeans. “My cousins run the local garage and repair shop. Sounds like you should meet.”

I blink at her. “Why?”

Mel shrugs. “I think they’ll like you.”

“Huh?”

“It’s rare to find a woman around here who can talk car parts without looking like a deer in the headlights.”

Before I can respond, a sharp knock at the door cuts through the room. Mel turns.

“I hear you talking. Is she all right?” a man says.

“Come in, Todd, and check for yourself,” she calls.

The door swings open, and at least six feet of rugged, cold-weather perfection fills the doorway, wearing a flannel-lined jacket, jeans, and a cocky half-smile that would look insufferable on anyone else. But on him? It works.

Florida’s supposed to be good for growth—sunshine, citrus, all that. But from where I’m standing, it’s pretty damn clear Maine’s brutal winters and salt air grow men just fine. I think, my gaze tracing the broad shoulders and easy stance—that whole rugged, outdoorsy thing that shouldn’t be my type but absolutely is.

Mel said his name is Todd, and he looks every inch the capable, small-town rescuer. Broad-shouldered, handsome, and sturdy in a way that makes something low in my stomach tighten. My girl parts, clearly traitors, perk up like they’re waking from hibernation.

“Morning,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”

I quickly school my features, refusing to let slip even a flicker of my thoughts. “Been better.” I lift the mug of tea like it’s evidence. “Mel’s trying to drown me in herbal remedies.”

Mel huffs. “She’ll thank me later. Make sure she keeps drinking it.” She glances back at me, smirking. “And don’t let her bully you into coffee yet.”

“Noted.” Todd’s grin widens, and he watches her leave before he turns his attention back to me. The warmth in his eyes is disarming, and I hate how easy he makes it look, standing there like some kind of flannel-clad knight.

“We’ve sent a tow truck to get your rental,” he says, taking a step closer. “It’ll be at the shop later today. Are you really okay? You gave us a scare.”

I set down the mug and fold my arms, mostly to cover my traitorous nipples who seem to salute the lumberjack, mountain man or whatever he is. “Better than last night. I didn’t realize Maine winters were so... aggressive.”

His chuckle is low and rich and pours over me like the hot, orange-blossom-honey syrup I like over my pancakes.

“Yeah, they don’t mess around. You’re lucky my brother spotted your car. Colton got eyes like a hawk.”

“Uh-huh.” I nod, unsure of what to say. Gratitude feels... too big, too vulnerable, but I owe them. “Thanks,” I manage to say, looking down at my hands. “For stopping. Helping me. For everything.”

“No problem.” He leans against the wall. “We couldn’t just leave you out there. But next time? Maybe don’t trust a rental car in the middle of nowhere without checking under the hood first.”

I bristle, but there’s no heat in his words—just teasing. My lips twitch before I can stop them. “Duly noted, Mr. Lumberjack.”

“Lumberjack?” He cracks up into a rich belly laugh. When he calms down, he sends me another panty-dropping grin. “I’m no lumberjack, I’m a fisherman, and I’m no Mr. Anything. You can call me Todd.”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip, but I shove aside the feeling and down the rest of the yucky tea.

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