“Yes, to pull me out of the ditch.”
“No, I don’t have a truck hoist. What I do have should do the trick though.” He shut the door without grabbing my bread or any of my belongings, then climbed out of the ditch, pulled a cell phone from his pocket, and hit a button. Smugly, I might add.
This man did not have an air of friendly cooperation, that was for sure. As for neighborly concern? Nope. Nada.
After a minute, his smug expression flattened. His mouth thinned out and he gazed at his phone as if he’d misdialed. He hit a button again, waited, then yanked the phone from his ear. “What the fuck?”
I tried not to blanch. Of course, I’d heard swearing before. I was a college student, wasn’t I? But in my family home, we had a tip jar. Anyone who swore put in a five-dollar bill. Forget a one-dollar bill. My parents had wanted us to learn appropriate words swiftly, and parting with five dollar
s of our allowance had worked fast.
Pretty sure this dude didn’t have a jar. If he did, he’d probably smash it with one of his hamhock fists.
“Is there a problem?”
“No. Definitely not. The tow truck place isn’t answering. No big.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“You don’t say?”
I ignored his sarcasm and lifted my voice to speak over the growing wind. The darker it got, the more frigid it was growing outside. But I’d be damned if I shivered. If he could seem impervious to the weather, so could I. “If you’re not using a national company and instead supporting a local business, it’s not surprising. This is a holiday. Therefore, holiday hours.”
“Thank you, Miss Know-It-All, but I’m well aware of this particular company’s hours. It’s a family business.”
“Your family? Yet you don’t own a truck hoist?” I cocked my head. “Seems fishy.”
“I said family business, not my business.”
“Ah, like your dad? Or your brother?”
“Look, they aren’t answering, so we’ll have to just wait.” He glanced around at the gathering snow as if he planned for us to wait at the edge of the road.
If that was the case, I was definitely going to try to get back into my car. As much as I loved Mrs. Pringle, I knew my stomach was on the verge of roaring. That bread was going to be mine. I’d skipped lunch, and boy oh boy, I knew better than to take shortcuts. They never paid off.
“Okay. Well, thanks.” Even if he couldn’t be polite, I could. “I appreciate your…” But I wasn’t a liar. “Conversation.”
I couldn’t be certain in the near darkness, but I was almost sure his lips twitched. “Conversation, is it?”
I shrugged.
“Come on,” he said, indicating with his chin for me to head up the short incline to a dark, forbidding, tiny house.
Immediately, my back went up. And my spidey senses started to tingle.
Or that might have been my extremities due to frostbite setting in.
“No, thank you. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll just stay here and call AAA.”
“You have AAA?”
“Of course I do.” I bit my lip, vividly picturing the expired notice on my desk at home. I’d paid that, right? It had been at the top of my To Do list, but with the holidays…
Okay, maybe not.
“You seem uncertain.”
“Not really.”