Page 78 of The End of Summer

Nope. Can’t call Dad. And yes, I do have AAA but it’s my dad’s policy, so I’m not sure if that would somehow end up being reported to him. My dad’s thechief of police, you understand. The man is basically a cross between Sherlock Holmes and the Terminator.

That leaves Brady.

I punch my phone screen with my forefinger, locating him in my recent contacts. It rings twice before he picks up.

“Well, hello again. What’s up?” he asks.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m stuck at the Orleans rotary.”

“Stuck? What do you mean?”

“I hit the curb and my tire went flat.”

“Oh, shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just don’t know how to change a tire, exactly.”

“Okay. No worries. I can change a tire. I’m on my way home from the mall, so I’ll just come straight to you. Figure no more than 30 minutes? Can you stay where you’re at safely?”

“Yeah, I’m on the grass right off the rotary. If you head around it once, you’ll see me.”

“Okay. Stay in the car. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

True to his word, Brady comes to my rescue in 28 minutes, not that I’m counting. Only problem is, the metal piece that holds the tire iron and jack in on top of the donut is rusted shut. Brady can’t get it to come loose.

“Do you have a donut I can borrow?”

“Yes, but it might not fit your car. The lug pattern has to match.” Brady scratches his head, thinking. “Maybe you should just take my car. I’ll stay here and figure out how to handle this.”

“I don’t want to leave you stranded,” I say.

“Nah, no worries. I’ll be fine. I have AAA, so I’ll just get the car towed to Cape and Islands Tire. It’s right up the road, maybe two miles tops.”

“But what if they don’t have a tire?”

“Then they’ll get one. Might take a day or two, but the guys who run the place are good. And the prices are fair.”

“But you’ll be stranded,” I point out.

“Gretch,” he says, reaching out for my hand. “I can get an Uber. It’s no big deal.”

I sigh.

“Anyway, no sense in arguing. You need to be at work, don’t you? It’s almost 5:30.”

“5:30? Holy shit,” I say. “I gotta get the Jell-O. I need to make the shots!”

“Okay, so go. I’ve got this.” Brady gives me a kiss on my forehead and hands me his keys.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I say. “I owe you one.”

“Happy to help,” he says, and the fact that I know he genuinely means this makes me want to curl up in the backseat of my busted Fiesta and do all sorts of unthinkable things to him to express my gratitude.

Unfortunately, I really need to go.

I kiss him goodbye and head to Stop and Shop in Brady’s car. A basketful of Jell-O boxes later, I’m back on the road to Cosmo, and I honk the horn when I pass Brady. He’s on the phone, and gives me a wave from the driver’s seat of my flaming orange ride.

By the time I get back to the studio, I begin mixing and pouring the trays of shots as quickly as I can. At 6:30, they’re all in the fridge and I’m cleaning up the boxes just as Saffron and Indigo arrive with a Domino’s pizza in tow.

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