One Autumn Night

Chapter Ten

"See you there." Something in her chest caught when the engine of his car roared to life. "Goodbye Declan," she whispered as she ordered herself not to turn around and watch him drive off, and instead busied herself, buckling into her car.

She clicked on the radio loud enough to drown out the goodbye that played through her head, and sang along to the saucy sounds of Beyoncé. And just as her body began to loosen enough to wiggle to the beat on the cloth seat, her trusty car began sputtering forward in jerky strides.

"Oh, no. No, no." She gripped the steering wheel and guided it to the shoulder of the road that twisted through the woods between town and the Fitzgerald estate. On the final exhausted sputter, she slapped at the steering wheel then banged her head against it. "Of course."

She pulled the lever to release the hood, kicked open her door, flung herself out, then, after pushing the hood above her head, she looked over the engine as if she knew what she was looking for.

Nothing immediately obvious—though it was debatable what that would be—she went back to the driver's side and retrieved her cell phone, praying for service. Surrounded by thick swipes of green, gold, and red-leafed trees that shimmered wet from the rain, her heart clutched then stammered. One bar of reception. Before she had time to fall into a full panic, Declan's car rolled up behind hers.

"Fabulous," she said on a huff, hating that she needed help, yet again. The whole damn day had been continuously thwarting her efforts to be a girl ruling the world, as Beyoncé had reminded her through the radio.

"What happened?" Declan asked as he approached.

"It died. I thought you left ahead of me."

"Stopped to get gas. Dead, huh?"

"It was a dramatic death, if that matters."

"Well in the interest of time, let's put the essentials in my car, you take it, then send Beckett or Ben back to get the rest. I'll ride back with them and we'll deal with your car tomorrow."

At the thought of seeing Declan the next day, at having to say goodbye over and over, her defense mechanism clamped down like iron bars around her. "I don't like that idea."

"Got any others? It's getting late."

She looked around at the trees that swayed in the shadows now that clouds crept in, ushering in the dusky beginnings of evening. The air fogged beneath the dark colors of fall, mingling in the crevices between trees, completing the creepiness. She decided she really did need to stop watching those X-Files reruns. "I don't want to leave you here with Lucky. It's creepy out."

"Lucky?"

"My car."

"Appropriate."

"Don't you mean ironic?"

"I'm here to help. I'd say that's lucky," he told her, clearly amused.

She wanted to debate that but there wasn't the time. "I feel bad leaving you here."

"We both won't fit in my car with any of the food you have packed in yours. It's me or the food," he said, his eyes lit by humor and the headlights of a passing car.

"Fine. Food then, I guess. You're the client," she reminded him then opened up her trunk, pulled out the first batch of food. "Are you sure you don't mind? I don't want anything to spill in your car. It's too pretty."

"Take it. It's cleanable."

"Remember you said that. And when I'm not hot, tired, and generally pissed, I'll thank you with more sincerity than I'm able to provide right now."

"You're frustrated, I get it. You're doing my mother a huge favor and it was a tall order. And now your car dies."

"It'd be easier if you weren't so understanding," she told him as they carried heavy loads of food to his passenger seat.

"I'll work on that. Remember how to drive a Porsche?"

She stacked her trays on top of the ones he set down. "Gas pedal goes forward, brake stops the thing. Or is it the other way around on a Porsche?"

"Very funny," he told her, walking back to her car for the next load.

"I thought so. And yes, I remember everything you taught me when you got your starter Porsche on your sixteenth birthday."

He chuckled. "Starter Porsche. All right then." Making his way around to the driver's side, he held the door open for Abigail, then laid a kiss on her lips as he reached across her for the seatbelt, tugging it around her, securing her in.

"Contrary to what's been apparent on this damn day, I'm not totally helpless. I can buckle my own seatbelt. I've been doing it for years, actually."

"I've never thought of you as helpless, Abigail," he said, his voice low, poignant.

Her eyes lifted to his and that familiar hot shiver hummed up her spine, spreading out to her fingertips and down to her toes. "I'll send someone back for you."

"Please do. Otherwise I might get picked up by someone who sees the 'Connecticutie' bumper sticker on your car. Maybe they'll decide they want to take me home to Ohio as a souvenir."

"You'd be a cute souvenir," she offered. "But I have faith in your ability to defend yourself against tourists who happen upon you, see my bumper sticker, and decide you're prime material for a keepsake. Though you would make a good Connecticut mascot."

"Gee thanks. Keys in your ignition?"

She nodded. "Better get out of the way, Connecticutie." She raised her eyebrows, teasing, as she started the car and revved the engine.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably." After smiling wide, she sped off, leaving Declan in charge of her dead, darling Lucky.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she wondered what rabbit hole she'd fallen into that Declan was with her old, deflated car on the side of the road while she zoomed toward the Fitzgerald estate in a snappy Porsche.

Weird, weird day, she thought, trying not to fall too much in love with the fast car that smelled of new leather and Declan Fitzgerald.