I roll my eyes. “Anything else to add that might cheer me up?”
“He’s still not over you.”
“That was a rhetorical question.”
“I know.” Nath answers his phone and strides off, jumping in his car and pulling away fast. I don’t hang around to let my thoughts wander to my ex-fiancé. I leave my coffee practically untouched and head for Dolly, sliding in and starting her up. “Come on,” I say quietly as she coughs and splutters. “Come on, come on, come on.”
I stop forcing her to life when smoke starts to billow from beneath the hood. Smoke. So much smoke. An ear-piercing bang, and then . . . smoke. I inhale. Swallow. Push my fist into the side of my head.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t see.
Can’t get to Mom.
Beau!
My body slams back into the seat, my breathing quick, and I physically shake myself away from the flashback, glancing around, checking my surroundings. Checking the sleeve of my shirt isn’t melting or my flesh isn’t burning. “Jesus,” I breathe, taking a moment to gather myself. When will these flashbacks stop haunting me?
I get out, wiping away the sheen of sweat from my brow, forcing myself back to the present. As I’ve been told, I take deep breaths with my eyes closed, trying to find my center. Breathe. Just, breathe. I wait until the shaking stops and I can inhale without shuddering.
I open my eyes and frown. “Well, that doesn’t look good.” I know this car inside out. I know when it’s going to shout, splutter, cough, jerk. But this smoke? That’s new.
On a sigh, I pull out my cell and go to my contacts. Then Favorites. He’s at the top. Reg the Rescue Truck.
He answers in two rings. “Where are you?”
“Downtown.”
“Fred’s Diner?”
“Yep.” I’m not embarrassed. That stopped the fourth time Reg rescued me. Now Reg and I are firm friends.
“I’m at the Starbucks drive-thru. A few minutes away. Vanilla latte?”
I drop into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t even tell me I need to get rid of Dolly anymore. “Love one.” I hang up and turn on the radio, sighing when David Bowie’s Heroes joins me. Granted, he’s a bit fuzzy and the crackly reception would be annoying for many, but crackly and fuzzy is my life these days. I relax back, glancing at my phone when it starts vibrating in my hand. I frown at the unfamiliar number and quieten Bowie. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me,” a man says.
I cock my head. “Who’s me?”
“Me.”
I pull my phone away from my ear and look down at the number again. Definitely not familiar. And as for the British accent? Never heard it. “Again, who’s me?” I ask.
There’s silence for a few moments, the man probably checking his cell too.
“Wrong number?” I ask.
“You’re not Sandy, are you?”
“No, I’m Beau.”
There’s a brief silence before he speaks again. “Sorry, I was after my personal shopper.”
Personal shopper? “Well, I decorate. Sorry to disappoint.”
He hums, it’s thoughtful, and I find my shoulders rolling back slowly. Weirdly. “Sorry to bother you.”
“No bother,” I say, seeing Reg pull into the road up ahead. “Must go, my knight in shining armor has arrived.” I hang up, wondering where that light, jokey reply came from, and jump out of Dolly, giving Reg a wave, like he might not see the lingering ball of smoke floating above me.
He pulls up alongside me and leans out of the window, his customary cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. “The smoke’s new.” He hands a latte down to me. “Jumper cables aren’t gonna fix that, beauty.”
I look back at Dolly, a little solemn. “But you can fix her, can’t you?” I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to her.
“Let’s get her on the truck and back to my repair shop. If she can be fixed, I’ll fix her.”
“Thanks, Reg.”
He sets about hooking Dolly up while I collect my bags and paint off the back seat. I load it all into Reg’s truck, and as I climb into the cab, my cell rings again. I glance down at the screen as I settle in my seat, faltering pulling on my belt as I answer.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Hi, me,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I have a few things I need.”
I raise my eyebrows. I mean, who is this guy? “Your wish is my command.”
“Sorry?”
“Anything you so desire.”
There’s silence, and I purse my lips.
“Pen and paper at the ready,” I go on. “What would sir like? A diamond for his girlfriend? A case of champagne? A few whips for the upcoming orgy?” Reg climbs into the truck and gives me a curious look. I shrug and take a sip of my latte. “Or female company?” I add. What do rich people with personal shoppers and fuck-all problems want these days?
More silence. So much in fact, I have to check he’s still on the line. He is. I bring my cell back to my ear, just catching his inhale. And I wait. “I’ll take all except the diamond,” he says, and it sounds rough. Dark.