Page 29 of Lucky Mother Pucker

There’s no way I heard him correctly.

I’m hallucinating. I’ve been working nonstop for the past two weeks, I’m not sleeping, and my brain is fuzzy, so I’m hearing things.

Because there’s no way this guy I barely know is offering to pay to get my car back for me.

Gently, he grabs my hand in his and leads me back to the parking lot in front of the diner. And because I’m too exhausted and shocked to do anything else, I follow him.

He walks up to a sleek-looking SUV and unlocks it.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Taking you to get your car.”

I stop walking and stare at him. Oh. Wait. He was serious?

I shake my head and start to speak, but he cuts me off.

“This isn’t a discussion, Lucy. I’m taking you to get your car back.”

I look down at our joined hands, just now noticing how warm and big his palm is. I swallow hard and pull out of his hold.

“You can’t do that,” I say.

“Why not? It’s my fault your car got towed.” He says it with a straight face. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I stare at him. I’m so confused.

He blinks, and the serious, focused expression softens. His eyes are a rich chocolate color. Deep, dark, and mesmerizing.

It feels like he’s peering into me. Like he can see inside of me. I shiver.

“How is my car getting towed your fault?” I ask.

“I got you fired from the coffee shop, so you had to get a new job at the diner. You wouldn’t have parked your car there—you wouldn’t have been here at all if it weren’t for me.”

Pain flickers in his mahogany eyes. Something in my chest softens. He actually means it. He’s actually sorry.

“I still can’t let you do that.” Every instinct to fend for myself fires off inside of me. I’ve lived like this for the past two years. On my own, no help from anyone. It feels weird—wrong, even—to accept his help, even if he genuinely wants to give it.

He steps closer to me. The look in his eyes turns pleading.

“Please let me help you, Lucy.”

I soften even more. “Okay.” I can’t believe he’s doing this for me. “I need to clock out of work first before I leave.”

He walks back into the diner with me. I try to ignore it as half of the restaurant stares at me. I ran out of there while yelling a minute ago, and now I’m back, my face red and puffy from crying.

I head to the back to clock out. Janice, the sweet fifty-something waitress who trained me on my first day, walks over to me.

“You okay, honey?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna clock out so I can go get my car.”

“You need a ride?”

I shake my head. “One of the customers offered to take me. Leo. The hockey player.”

She smiles. “Oh, he’s a sweetheart. Of course he’d offer to take you.”