Page 3 of Prove You Wrong

Selecting the right screwdriver, I undo the screws, loosen the headlight bundle and unclip it from the electrical connector. My heart pumps faster as it comes away in my hand.

Carefully, I carry it around to the back and lay it in the boot to swap out the old bulb. He follows me closely and now the light beam illuminates the spent bulb, showing the filament has burnt out.

‘That looks like the one. Nice job.’

‘Don’t speak too soon.’ I turn and look at him, noticing how his eyes have crinkled with his smile. ‘Helena’s not out of the woods yet.’

The guy scans my vintage Ford Escort from boot to bonnet in mock consternation. ‘Please do not drive this car through woods, or anywhere off road. Actually, are you sure it’ll make it home?’

‘She’ll be just fine thank you very much.’ I tap Helena fondly on the bumper.

Slotting the pieces back together and re-fixing the wires and bolts takes a minute and then the moment of reckoning arrives.

I bite my lip as I slide into the driver’s seat. This is it.

‘Light her up!’ Calls out the man.

Slotting the key in the ignition, I twist it over and Helena rumbles and flares into life, lights dazzling on full beam.

‘Wahoo, yeah,’ the guy shouts and tosses the torch into the air, catching it easily.

I give Helena a double toot on her horn to celebrate and can’t stop a giggle of relief escaping. After reversing so I can help reposition the furniture we’d moved, I leave the lights running to illuminate our work. Pausing for a moment behind the wheel, I take in the view of my unexpected assistant.

He’s drenched through to the skin, and, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me — which is a distinct possibility as I’m so low on sleep I could start hallucinating at any time —he is freaking ripped. His wet top clings to a sculpted chest, defined abs, and his tracksuit bottoms hug in all the right places. From the top of his buzz cut, down to his toes, this guy is off-the-charts hot.

As I scan back up to his face, his eyes meet mine through the glass, his mouth tugging into a smirk and I realise the interior light is still on in the car. He has totally caught me checking him out, again. Awareness of my rain poncho’s resemblance to a bin bag slices through me.

I feel shy as I climb out of the car to help with the furniture. My hands tug at the cold, wet, plastic hanging off me, pointlessly trying to zhuzh up the ensemble.

He moves over to me, sticking up his hand for a high five. ‘Nice work. Shit, your hands feel cold.’ His smile falls, brows knitting together. ‘You sure you won’t change your mind about coming in?’

‘You’ve done so much already, and I should really get going.’ Manoeuvring around him, I grasp the table we need to shift.

He follows me, picking up the other side and says, ‘Not even a hot drink? To celebrate?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s way past my bedtime, but, thank you. For everything.’

We move the table back to its regular spot. ‘You’re welcome, Sparky.’

‘Sparky?’ I raise an eyebrow.

‘A reference to your natural affinity for electrics,’ he chuckles. I’d probably find his banter cute if I wasn’t so tired. ‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘it’s not like you told me your name. Helena, on the other hand, we go way back.’

‘Ella.’ I stick out my hand and he moves to shake it. ‘And you are?’

‘Well, that’d be telling.’ A smirk twists on his face. ‘Why don’t you think of me as the hot, mysterious stranger who helped you fix your car?’

‘You held the torch!’ I reach out to swat at him. I knew he’d busted me peeking at him.

He dodges and grins. A dimple appears on his cheek and I swear a fairy must die somewhere, just to restore the balance of light and dark, good, evil, and hotness in the universe.

‘I notice you didn’t dispute I’m hot though.’ His eyes sparkle as he thrusts his hands in his pockets.

‘You notice a lot.’

He scans me, up and down, serious suddenly. ‘I do.’

There’s a pause. I think he’s about to say something. Maybe ask me in again. Maybe I’d say yes this time.

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