Page 1 of Falling Inn Love
ONE
BETH
No, there’s no one.
* * *
I wasn’tsure where I’d end up today, but this sure as hell wasn’t it.
“Great. Just freaking great,” I mutter as steam pours out from under the hood of my ten-year-old green Subaru. My car smells awful, like something burning or melting.
I pull off to the side of the road and park, a sitting duck in my no-longer-trustworthy SUV, hoping I’m not going to be turned into roadkill by a big semi coming down the highway.
I reach across the seat and pull my phone over to me by the charging cord. Thankfully, it’s fully charged.
“Where the hell am I?” I cringe as I open a navigation app.
Freedom Valley, New Hampshire.
I cup my face with my hands. My chest tightens as I begin to cry. I’m running out of money and time, and it’s starting to get dark out. Hot tears streak my cheeks. I just want to go home, but I don’t have a home anymore; I haven’t for the past six years. Nowadays, home is this nomadic lifestyle I’ve chosen for myself.
I hear a light tapping on the window and look up to see a tall, dark-haired man with the most gorgeous light green eyes peering down at me.
Great. Now this is the part where I get murdered on a highway all alone.
I roll the window down a little and the man leans in, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just pulled over for a rest,” I say, forcing a smile and wiping my eyes, quickly trying to look away and not stare too long. His hair topples over his forehead as he inches closer. He has a full, dark beard that makes me weak in the knees.
Are beards out? Because if they are, they should definitely be back in. This guy makes it work. I’ve never seen a more gorgeous man, and this beard makes him dark, scary, and handsome all at the same time.
“Are you sure? I think something is wrong with your car. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the radiator. Do you want me to take a look?” He cringes as he turns his head away from the awful, acrid smell of the smoke continuing to barrel out of the hood.
It occurs to me that I could possibly be his next intended victim on this lonely New Hampshire two-lane highway, where no one would ever hear me scream. He doesn’t look like a murderer, but I’m basically an expert inDatelineand forensics and murder shows on Netflix, so here we are. Where it all probably ends.
He holds up his hands and says with a smile, “I’m Evan.”
“Hi,” I say quietly.
“Hi,” he replies softly, his eyes taking in my face with curiosity. “Can I help you? I can’t just leave you here. My mom would kill me.”
Great. A family of murderers. Hey, I’ve seen that movieWrong Turn.
“Okay, but can I stay in the car?” I ask. I’m nervous. I am all alone out here and I don’t know this guy.
“Yep, just pop the hood,” he says, then walks to his old retro truck parked in front of me with its hazards blinking.
I take him in. He’s even nice-looking from the back, as well. Maybe even more so. Why am I admiring this stranger’s backside? This isn’t good.
He’s tall, wearing form-fitting jeans and brown boots. He’s not wearing the flannel. It’s wearing him.Damn. He’s a walking lumberjack snack.He pulls a pair of gloves from his truck and strolls back to my car, using his gloves to lift the hot hood that seems to have finally stopped steaming.
From the safety of my car, I hear him messing around with some things before he shuts the hood and taps on my window.I roll it down again, still unsure of this guy.
“It’s your radiator, so I wouldn’t drive it anymore. It needs to be towed into town to Sam’s to get looked at. I can give you a ride to wherever you’re going,” he says as he tucks his gloves into his back pocket.
I nod, my chest tightening up again. “Okay, but I don’t know where to go. I was staying in my car and dry camping,” I admit, looking out the window. I realize I shouldn’t have told him I have nowhere to go, but what other options do I have?
A car zips past us, making me jump. When I glance back at him, I notice he’s still staring at me, looking a little bit in shock.
