Page 19 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

His simple explanation might not mean a lot for women who’d grown up with decent men in their lives. But for me, a good man was as elusive as presents on Christmas morning.

So I’d taken the phone and kept it close.

Brooks Cohen. Damn, I liked him. I liked the entire package, head to toe. Even his unique name gave me a shudder.

The one thing my parents had done right was to give me a cool name. My mother had named me Londyn after the city in England because she’d always wanted to visit there. The woman couldn’t spell for shit.

Unfortunately, by the time I’d run away at sixteen, I’d picked up her spelling habits. Mom didn’t write much—she didn’t need to as a lifelong junkie—but when I’d been eight, I’d taken over responsibility for going to the grocery store around the block.

Wanting the escape, I went almost every day, and because my scrawny arms couldn’t carry more than three bags home. Mom would send me with a tattered sticky note covered in her messy script with words spelled entirely wrong.

Melk. Bred. Sereel.

The few teachers I’d had in my early years had tried to correct my spelling. Some had succeeded. Others hadn’t cared. But I’d gotten by. Who needed to spell when you worked at bars and understood your own notes?

I hadn’t seen it as a flaw until I’d married Thomas.

I’d never forget the look on his face when he’d seen my GED study notes. It was one of the most humiliating moments in my life. He’d stared at me like I was a broken child, not an adult, a grown woman and his wife.

From then on out, I took care to double-check every single word before writing it down. I’d spent hours with a dictionary in hand. I still carried a pocket version in my purse. Math, science and world history would never be my forte, but damn it, I could spell. And my vocabulary wouldn’t betray my upbringing.

After another two blocks, I changed direction for the motel, hot and ready for an iced coffee. Meggie had set up a small coffee area in the motel’s office, and this morning, all of the chairs had been filled with locals. Gossip flew from one end of the reception area to the other. Some bounced to the counter, where the clerk whipped up coffee and kept watch over the covered cake stand.

Free, black coffee was available to anyone who came through the door. Fancy espressos and the treats under the glass dome were for paying customers only. The scone I’d inhaled this morning rivaled any I’d found at my favorite patisserie in Boston.

At the next intersection, I stopped and looked both ways, getting my bearings. Then I took a left, hoping I’d come up on the back side of Main Street. When the sound of an air gun filled the air, I tensed.

It was a sound often heard in a garage—a squeak and a puff of air with a compressor churning. Whenever my mechanic in Boston had called to talk about the Cadillac, that sound had been a constant in the background.

Somehow, I’d gotten turned around and ended up behind Brooks’s garage.

I slowed, contemplating a retreat. I didn’t want Brooks to think I was hovering. Though I did want to see my car and find out what was happening. That wasn’t weird, was it? I was in the area. A brief stop in wasn’t hovering, even if I’d been over yesterday.

Plus I’d get to see the mechanic himself. I wasn’t going to be in Summers long. I might as well add fodder for my future fantasies while I had the chance. Maybe today, Brooks would be in a different color T-shirt.

Decision made, I walked to the large open door and peeked my head inside. This wasn’t a large garage. There were only two stalls and a small office in the back corner. The tow truck was parked alongside the building in a gravel lot.

“Um . . .” I raised my hand to knock, except there was no place to knock, so I awkwardly tucked it away. “Hello?”

My car was in the same place it had been yesterday. The tire was no longer flat. Beside it in the next bay was a minivan raised in the air on a hoist. Tools were strewn on workbenches. The scent of grease hung in the air.

Not a soul was visible.

Which was probably for the best. Now that I was standing in the middle of the doorway, this seemed more like stalker than concerned customer. I spun around, hoping to make a quick escape, but a deep, sexy voice stopped my retreat.

“Londyn.”

I froze. Shit.

“Uh, hi.” I waved, turning around as Brooks came striding out of the office. “I was just walking around town. I passed by and thought I’d come to check on my car.”

That didn’t come across as stalking but it sure sounded a lot like I didn’t trust him at all to do his job.

“Car’s fine.” He grinned. “Still alive.”

I blushed. My hand was in the air so I pulled it down, tucking it away. Then we stood there, him staring at me while I looked around the room. Why was this awkward?

Oh, right, because he was gorgeous and somehow I’d forgotten how to speak to gorgeous men. Or because I couldn’t stop thinking about stripping him of that T-shirt. Today, Brooks had traded his white T-shirt for a black one with a round crest printed on the center.