Page 4 of When in Rome

She’ll go on and on if I don’t stop her. “Mabel, a woman’s car broke down in my front yard and the engine is smoking but she’s scared to get out because she thinks I’m going to hurt her. I need for you to act as my character reference so she’ll get her ass out ofthere.” I would call one of my sisters but they would definitely say something off-color about how long it’s been since I’ve slept with anyone and then ask the woman what her relationship status is. Definitely not calling them. Definitely don’t care what that woman’s relationship statusis.

“Oh, well, baby, why didn’t you say so! Get out there and let me talk to the poor girl!” I hear a twinkle of excitement in Mabel’s voice that I don’t appreciate or want to encourage. This whole town has been on my back lately to give dating another try, but I’m not interested. I wish they’d leave me alone about it and let me live in peace, but that’s not their style. And now that I think about it, I’m not so certain Mabel won’t say something similar to what my sisters would say.

I peek through the blinds again and see the woman fanning herself aggressively with her hand. I swear, if I have to call a paramedic and spend the whole night in the hospital losing sleep with this strange woman because she gave herself heatstroke out there, I’ll never open my front door again. I’mone more woman wrecking my lifeaway from boarding up all my windows and turning into a hermit that yells profanities at Christmas carolers.

“Don’t get any ideas, Mabel. This isn’t a romantic thing. I just don’t want her to die in the heat out there.”

“Mm-hmm. Is she pretty?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes against the annoyance building up my spine. “It’s pitch-black outside. How would I know that?”

“Oh, please. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

I groan. “Yes.” So damn pretty. I only got a brief look at her with my flashlight, but what I saw had me doing a double take. She had dark hair piled in a bun on her head, a pretty smile, thick lashes, and sharp blue eyes. The odd thing is, I feel like I’ve met her even though I’ve never seen her car in town before. It must have been one of those weird instances of déjàvu.

“Well then,” she says with a pleased sigh. “Take me out to our fair beauty.”

“Mabel…” I use a warning tone as I open the front door and step outside. The summer heat immediately threatens to strangle me, and I wonder how the woman has survived this long in her car with the windows rolled up and no air-conditioning.

“Oh, hush! It’s not every day a woman is dropped into your lap like this, so zip your lips and hand the phone over.” This is what I get for living in Rome, Kentucky, most of my life. My neighbors still treat me like the boy who ran through town in his Superman underwear.

Leaving the front door cracked so the phone cord doesn’t get pinched, I walk through the yard toward the little white car. It’s too dark out here to see her features without shining the flashlight at her again, but I do see the silhouette of her face turn my way. And then she immediately throws her seat back. She’s trying to trick me into believing she’s not in there. I refuse to smile at the ridiculousness ofit.

When I knock on the window, she screeches.Jumpy.

“Hey…”You? Woman? Lady currently killing the grass in my yard?“Uh…Here. This is a friend of mine on the phone. She’s going to act as my character reference so you can feel safe to get out of your car.”

The lady pulls the lever on her seat and the whole thing comes flying up. She yelps and I have to bite the inside of my cheeks. Her big eyes peer up at me through the glass, and unfortunately, there’s not enough light to figure out how I know her, but now I’m convinced Ido.

She frowns. “How do you have cell service right now?”

“I don’t.” I raise the phone up so she can seeit.

Her eyes drop to it and she laughs. “What is that?!”

You’d think I was holding a rare species of animal by the way she’s gaping and laughing. “It’s generally called a telephone.”

“Yes, but…” She pauses to let out another delighted laugh and the sound curls around me like a cool breeze. “Did you steal it from the museum of 1950s history? Now the mannequin with the blue gingham print dress and matching headband won’t receive her husband’s call saying he’ll be late for dinner! Oh my gosh, that cord has to be fifty feet long!”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you going to roll down your window or not, Smart Mouth?”

Her eyebrows lift. “Did you just call me…Smart Mouth?”

“Yes.” And I won’t apologize for it. I’m not trying to make friends with her or make her feel cozy—besides she insulted my phone. I love my phone. It’s a good phone.

Oddly, her face splits into a full, gorgeous smile and she laughs. It makes my stomach tighten, and my heart thump angrily. I tell them both to shut up and behave. I will not be moved by another woman passing through my town. I’m going to help her tonight because (1) it’s the right thing to do; (2) so she doesn’t die in my front yard; and (3) so I can get her the hell on her way again.

“Well, okay, then.” She cracks the window only about two inches so I can slip the phone in. Our fingers brush in the exchange and my whole body reacts to it because apparently it wasn’t listening to the threatening speech I gave it a minute ago. The woman whips the phone into the car and zips her window back up before I can slide a pitchfork in and impale her.

She eyes the phone warily before raising it to her ear. “Hello?”

Immediately I can tell that Mabel takes over because the woman’s eyes grow twice their size and she listens with rapt attention. Five minutes later, beads of sweat are rolling down the back of my neck as I lean with folded arms against the hood of her car, waiting for Smart Mouth to finish laughing her ass off with Mabel.

“He didn’t!” she says practically howling and now I know it’s time to take the phone back. I go to her door, knocking against her window. “Time’s up. Are you getting out or not?”

She holds up a finger to me and finishes with Mabel. “Uh-huh…uh-huh…yeah. Okay, it was great talking with you, too!”

I have to back up when, surprise, surprise, the woman opens the car door and steps out, handing me back my phone. At her full height, she comes to my chin, but her messy brunette bun stands to about the top of my head. I don’t want to admit it, but she’s cute—classy. She’s wearing a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt tucked into white, old-timey-looking shorts. They’re the kind that climb high on her petite waist, hug the soft curve of her hips, and cut off high on her thighs. She belongs on a sailboat in a black-and-white photo—not from around here, that’s for damn sure. She’ll be gone in the blink of an eye, so there’s no use letting myself admire her looks.

---