Page 41 of Ewan

It might be that cold, but I feel like chuckling.

I’m still focused on my feet when a harsh knock on the driver’s window throws me into the fangs of panic.

“Ahh…” I shout, reflexively jerking my arm up to protect myself from… nothing.

A man looks at me through the foggy window.

I tilt my head down and peer up at him with increased interest.

Wait a minute.

I know this man.

Those eyes almost got me in trouble back at the venue.

No. Is this him? Is this what he looks like?

The light shafts coming from his headlights highlight his silhouette.

It’s him.

My heart beats in the most awkward places of my body.

I feel it everywhere.

Quick, uneven beats forecasting trouble.

“Can you open the door?” he says in his unmistakable rasp before looking to his right as if another car is about to pass us up.

I glance over my shoulder as well.

His black truck blocks the road, and no car comes toward us.

It’s only us. Him, and me. And the harsh winter. And my broken down car.

My shoulders jolt slightly from the frigid cold.

Eventually, he shifts his gaze to me, his gloved hands propped on the metal frame of my car.

I lift my finger as if to say,‘Give me a second,’and lower myself to put my heels on.

I unlock the door, and he looks at me with those mystifying gray eyes that give me shivers on top of the ones I’m getting from the cold.

We look at each other as if musing over something that has nothing to do with me being stuck in a ditch and wearing light clothes like like it’s summer.

“What happened?” he asks, his eyes taking me with a fervor that again has nothing to do with my situation.

I’ve never been stared at like that.

As if my soul is for the taken.

As if he knows more about me.

Like a billion more things about me. The littlest, most intimate secrets. How I prefer to sleep on my stomach, with a body pillow between my legs to help alleviate the tension in my spine. How I secretly yearn to have a daughter and teach her all the things I've learned the hard way in life. How I love Christmas but hate organizing events. How I love teaching little kids but not dealing with a burly, surly Santa.

How I love having my feet massaged, but I've never had someone do it for me. Having a professional do it for me has proven to be more difficult as I always fall asleep on the massage table.

He tilts his chin toward the hood of my car.

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