Page 2 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

But when I got a look at his face I was stunned.

He was tall, with a lean body, but muscular. He had short, dark brown, almost black, hair and the greenest eyes I had ever seen. Five o’ clock shadow covered his cheeks and chin. My eyes trailed down, over the white t-shirt glued to his chest, and stopped there. I could see black ink underneath the white shirt and licked my lips. The fact that he had tattoos only made him hotter. To protect against the cold, he was wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt.

“Uh—can I help you?” He asked, smiling pleasantly at me, and putting my earlier fears about him being a murderer or rapist completely to rest.

Help? With what? I needed help?

“Huh?”

He grinned crookedly, tilting his head. “With your tire. Do you need some help?”

He had the deepest, huskiest, voice I had ever heard. I shivered at the sound. I was pretty sure I’d be happy for him to help me with a lot of things, and none of them included my tire.

“Help would be great,” I blushed, ducking my head.

He chuckled. “You do have a spare, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the trunk,” I pointed, like he didn’t know where the trunk was.

He grabbed the spare, and all the necessary tools and sat down, next to the ruined tire.

“I—uh—would’ve changed it myself, but—uh—my dad never taught me,” I ran my fingers nervously through my wavy brown hair. “He said something about it not being appropriate for a girl to do and if I ever got a flat tire, I better hope Prince Charming came along. My dad’s very—uh—old fashioned,” I stammered.

He looked up at me. “Does that make me Prince Charming?” He grinned.

“Oh—uhm—Prince Charmin

g is fictional, so I guess not, and he-uh-usually rides a white horse or something… I think.”

Somebody, stamp AWKWARD across my forehead already.

The guy threw his head back and laughed. “I guess a shiny black 69’ Camaro doesn’t count as a white horse. You watch a lot of Disney movies or something?”

“No,” I blushed tomato red. “At least not anymore.”

“You’re funny,” he squinted up at me, shielding his eyes from the orange glow of the setting sun.

“I hope that’s a good thing,” I muttered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t trying to be funny.

“It’s a very good thing-” He paused, waiting for my name.

“Oh—uh—Olivia. Olivia Owens.”

“I’m Trace,” he reached a hand up to me and I took it. It was warm and calloused, swallowing mine whole. “Trace Wentworth,” he grinned when my hand jerked at his touch.

We were both silent after that as he changed my tire. When he was done, he packed everything away, and put my ruined tire in his trunk.

“You don’t need to do that,” I reached for his arm. The guy had already stopped to help me; I certainly didn’t expect him to haul my ruined tire away as well.

“I’m a mechanic, I’ll get rid of it at work,” he closed the trunk with a shrug. “You need to get a new tire on tomorrow. That spare won’t last you long.”

“Right,” I nodded, committing that tidbit of information to memory.

“Bring it by Pete’s Garage,” he opened the door to his car and held onto the frame. “I’ll be there and fix it up for you.”

“Oh—um—okay. Thanks for fixing my tire and for-uh-stopping,” I said, walking backwards away from his car and towards mine.

“You say, uh, a lot,” he commented, a grin tilting his lips up at the corners. He had one of those smiles that made panties around the world drop. I was tempted to check and make sure mine were still firmly in place.

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